


Hunger Games: Dead Water, Calm Seas

by lainathiel



Category: Hunger Games (2012) RPF, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Idk what i'm doing, but bitch i'm all iiiiiiiiiin, but i'm having loads of fun y'all, idk if anyone's done an original hunger games story before, this is before finnick meets annie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lainathiel/pseuds/lainathiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An original character and an original story in the Hunger Games universe. Marinelle Harlaw is surviving the show-business industry of the Capitol. When she thinks things couldn't get worse, they do. Or perhaps dying isn't the worse option. Maybe it is a nice escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My life wasn't always the way it is right now.

I guess you could say I've been very lucky most of my life. My family and I have always had enough to get on - more than a lot of families in District 4 - and me and my brother have never gone hungry. Even when there was barely any food (which was rarely, my family was probably richer than most by district standards, but it did happen), our parents would never let us notice. We were always fed and taken care of and mostly ignorant of the things they sometimes had to go through. It was later in life that we found out about the struggles beyond the usual ones, and the things my father sometimes had to do under the radar. 

But it didn't matter; we were lucky, luckier than most - not to mention compared to other districts. I'd grown up on stories of District 12 - my father always wanted to instill gratitude for everything we had into me and my brother Trent. No stories were really needed - hard times would sometimes come to us and our district entire, and we'd learn first-hand never to think we're safe and dry.

My father Wade is the most hard-working and lovable man you could ever meet. I've always been ridiculously attached to him, and maybe it was all the more because he is a Ship Captain, and when me and Trent were children, sometimes he could be absent from home for a month or perhaps even longer. It didn't matter, because it was a high-earning job, and we'd always get delicious seaweed sweet-cakes upon his return and the hugs would always be even more rewarding after such an absence. 

My mother Coral, on the other hand, has never stepped foot on a ship. She all but hated the sight of it. Working on ship has always been much more profitable than any other sort of work, but she always determinedly refused every opportunity to get on one. She always felt it her duty never to let me and Trent out of her sight, something I'm very thankful for now. I don't know what kind of teenagers we'd turn out to be without at least one parent constantly with us. I, for one, have always been dangerously rebellious, and Trent was never far behind. But we got that from our parents. It was with time, and I guess out of fear and complacency with what we had, that they slowly let that small flame flicker somewhere safely deeper inside of them. 

My brother is my best friend. When I was twelve, and entered the Reaping for the first time, he was only ten, and safe for another two years, and I remember like it was yesterday how much and for how long he just couldn't get himself to let go of my hand. And it barely changed in the following few years. On the day of the Reaping he'd always wake up first, then gently shake me awake with the same sentence every year: ''Marinelle. Mari. Wake up. Reaping day. Time to not get picked.'' And I'd say ''Time to not get picked'' right back.

And I never got picked. As I grew older, the odds against me multiplied, but despite my nervousness every year, some small part of me deep inside knew I wouldn't get picked. I mostly feared for Trent, but luck was always on our side. Maybe it was our ''Time not to get picked'' mantra; I was actually starting to have some superstitious thoughts over that. 

We were lucky, because not once did anyone we knew personally get picked either. Sure, we always knew who the Tributes were, we'd passed them or heard of them through friends, but it was never our friends or personal acquaintances. So sometimes, we didn't even watch the Games, me and Trent. It was our small act of rebellion. The key word would be _sometimes_ \- unfortunately, there was no escaping the Games, and once Trent and I were old enough, dad would actually make us watch. He once said: ''If one day one of you is so unlucky as to get picked, I want you to know what you'll be up against.'' He hated himself for it, and mom hated him for it too, but it was the harsh truth, and he never had to say it again. That sentence was engraved into our memories forever. So I watched. I learned.

Sometimes I wondered how I'd survive if I ever _were_ to be picked as Tribute. I've always been physically fit as most of the kids in District 4 - all mostly well fed and in good shape because we all had to start working in the industry at a young age. But up against Careers, you have to have a lot of luck and skill. It isn't fair, really, and I found myself envying their privilege of training at the Academy, but then I'd remember their training has one downside to it - graduates are obliged to volunteer. So it's training for it and volunteering versus hoping unprepared that you'll never get picked. You could end up in the Games either way. The odds are never in our favor. 

I've never personally known anyone who's gone to the Academy either, but our District has always provided a fair share of Careers. Trent made a comment about considering it once. It earned him a slap across the face.

When I was fourteen my life turned upside down. I never got to enter the Reaping that year. I was scouted by a woman named Daphne Thullius (something I'd never heard of happening to anyone before, at least not in our district) and before I could really wrap my mind around what was happening, I was shipped off to the Capitol. All I know is that I've always liked to sing and dance, but it was something for my own pleasure and something I wasn't aware I was even that good at. This woman seemed to see some potential in me, surely for her own ends, and for a while after her 'discovery' I was under the surveillance of her team of hawks. When she was certain I was what she was looking for, I was snatched off to the Capitol, confused and unprepared as ever. At first I didn't really understand what was happening, nervous and confused and distrustful of everyone; then the thought of living in the Capitol had the naive young me all excited; then the thoughts of being a superstar like those we sometimes saw on the TV screens sounded more than inviting to me; and then I was mostly just grateful for the opportunity to make the lives of my family and my district easier. That was until I actually got there.

A few months into my training, and I was already hating everything. Having dance and singing lessons entire days long and being butchered by the beauty team and following strict diets and not having enough sleep - it all had me contemplating fleeing the Capitol quite a few times. I never did, of course, and I never could, even if I tried. I was determined to endure it all, and one day I would debut as this superstar entertainer they all wanted me to be, and then perhaps it would be easier. That's what I kept telling myself at least, to keep on going on. I was tired, and I was lonely. Home was far away, I didn't have any family or friends by my side, and none of the trainees I stumbled upon were from any of the Districts, unsurprisingly. Becoming friends with Capitol kids just wasn't going to happen. It simply wouldn't work. 

The situation with my 'team' was much the same; the only person I befriended was my producer, Leto. He was in charge of making my music, and not obliged to be anything close to friendly, but he was one of the most pleasant people I'd ever met. I never thought there were people like that in the Capitol before I met him. I mean, sure, people will be friendly toward you, but it's never quite honest. Leto was nothing if not honest. He made my life easier by existing. My favorite part of a working day was having to be in his studio. He'd make some music and I'd relax and maybe even rest away from the prying eyes and we'd talk comfortably and I'd feel just a bit less alone.

The same year I went to the Capitol was the year a Tribute from our district had won the Games. It seemed to be a District 4 kind of year. Finnick Odair - fourteen years old just like me. I never knew him personally back home, but he was always that cute boy pretty much every girl in the district liked. It was a good thing that someone from our district had won, but it was never easy to celebrate. I could never bring myself to gloat over young people dying. 

It was Finnick who turned out to become the first superstar from District 4, something I was being trained to become. The boy's popularity devoured all of Panem, it seemed; but the Capitol was crazy about him. He never really went back and moved to the Victor's Village; his property was just sort of _there_ \- he spent most of his days in the Capitol seemingly enjoying his socialite celebrity status. For a while, he seemed to be everywhere. Not that I had time to actually know what was happening out there - during my training, I could barely steal away time to actually go outside. We lived in the same building too, but we'd only sometimes pass each other - it would be two years afterwards that we talked for the first time, and it was on Caesar's Talk Show. He was completely different from what I'd seen passing by him in the hall - flirtatious and cocky and whatnot. He looked nothing like it at night before he entered his apartment. I didn't know him, but I knew he was playing a role, one assigned to him, just like one was assigned to me. He was under the same company as me, equally managed by President Snow, so the same people who pulled on my strings were probably pulling on his. 

Finnick turned out to be something of a friend too, in a different way. We never got to spend much time together, but there was silent understanding between us, and sometimes I'd catch him on the roof. He knew about my hell, and I knew about his, and that was it. And it was comforting.

I trained for over two years and made my debut when I was almost seventeen. My success was huge, and it didn't take long for my popularity to absolutely rocket into the sky either. A ridiculously big team of ridiculous people had made sure to make a star out of me, and it was 95% them and 5% me that made everyone in the Capitol absolutely love me. They created this entire persona that was nothing like me at all, and in that one hour between showering and getting up on a stage, I would be transformed into a beauty queen - again nothing like me at all. It was a tiring process.

It was a tiring life, really, but I endured. I almost never had time of my own. I never spent time with the people I actually wanted to spend time with. I never got to rest. I never got to have a say in anything. The only times I was actually alone were when I was in bed or in the shower or when I sneaked out onto the roof and found it desolate. I was a machine, or maybe a slave would be a better word. I never got to see my family except sometimes through a screen or at the Reapings. Oh yes, my presence at the Reapings in District 4 was mandatory. According to my lovely manager Daphne, I had to keep up my connection especially with the public and 'fans' at home in my beloved district, which was surely entirely proud of me. I appeared, I smiled, I waved, I blew kisses, and I wondered just how many of those people hated the very essence of my being. It bothered me, and more with time. I didn't want them to hate me. I didn't want to be what I all of a sudden was.

But it kept me out of the Reaping. I was absolutely safe from the Hunger Games, because I was no longer technically from District 4. I was a Capitol person. I hated myself a lot for it. I dressed like them, though I fought ferociously to play their fashion down a bit (and my stylists would let me, selling it as a trademark style - 'rebellious and chic'); and I talked like them, though without that ridiculous strong accent. I behaved like them. I spent time with them. I pretended to love it. It was my own kind of Hunger Games. If I dared refuse anything, I'd be threatened with the lives of my family. So I sucked it up. I let them do as they pleased with me. I was all but dead inside, but as long as my family was safe, I didn't care. When the whole mess began, I was naive enough to believe that perhaps my privileges would extend to the rest of my family. That couldn't have been further from the truth.

What a fool I was.


	2. Chapter 2

It's the sound of my phone that wakes me, just like most of the mornings. I know it's Daphne before I even look at the screen, but the bed is so comfortable and warm and the sun is barely peeking into my apartment and I had such a lovely dream that I let her wait. To annoy her, if nothing else. If there is one thing to know about my manager, it's that time is of utmost importance to her, and she hates wasting a single second.

But soon I can no longer ignore it. It's like hitting me in the head with a hammer, but I cannot turn off the sound either because I'll fall asleep again and I couldn't afford to get myself in that kind of trouble.

''What?'' I mumble when I take the call, half-buried in the pillows.

''Hmph. Sweetie,'' I can hear her trying to steady herself and be calm and polite, ''Have you forgotten? It's your eighteenth birthday tomorrow.''

''No,'' I mumble.

''The party is tonight.''

''I know.''

''Then why are you still in bed?'' her voice takes on an angry undertone that she still tries to control.

''I knew you'd wake me,'' I blurt, still half-incomprehensible even to my own ears.

''You have an early start today. Try to finish everything on your schedule by 5 o'clock. You'll have to start getting ready before 6.''

I want to groan. I want to cry a little bit, too, but I don't. I only politely agree and end the conversation.

I'm not excited about turning eighteen. It's not really my birthday, it's a social event. The rich will come, the famous will come, the important will come - I will know some of them, and I will have no idea who most of them are. I will have to look perfect, behave perfectly, smile and flirt as though loving it all, and not once let myself slip out of the role I'm playing. That's all fine, too - I've grown used to it. The worst part about social events like these has always been having to converse with so many utterly dull people that actually made you think the Hunger Games may not be such a bad idea after all.

I try not to think about the party and my celebrity status as I do my best to get ready. I quickly drink some enhanced sort of coffee that always made me wake up instantly, and I do my best to pick out nice clothes and nice-looking make-up. I don't have much public work today, so I don't have to be butchered and tossed around like a doll just yet, which is a relief. Every day that didn't require of me to work too much in public was a good day.

When I realize Leto's studio is the first thing on my schedule, I think this day might not be so bad after all. I don't eat because I know he'll have something waiting for me there. And I'm right. I listen to his new tunes as I munch on some fruit, and then we discuss lyrics, none of which I wrote, of course. I have written a few things in the past, but I never got to record any of them obviously. Leto loved them, but no one else in the company approved. The mere act probably reeked of rebellion.

We end up recording one song and working on and discussing a few others and before I know it, hours have passed. Working with him was always a joy, and it's never a wonder how time flies when we're in the studio together. I don't want to leave, really.

''You tired, pumpkin?'' 

I love his nicknames. They're never too sugary and never dishonest.

''Yeah, a lil' bit,'' I say as I get my things and get ready to leave.

''Big night tonight, huh,'' he turns off his computer.

''Well, just about half the Capitol will be celebrating my birthday, so I guess.''

''Try to have fun,'' he approaches me with a smile and pinches my cheek, ''It's still your birthday.''

''One I'll get to celebrate with exactly one friend. Okay, two,'' something breaks in the pit of my stomach at the next thought, but I say it anyway, ''I wish I could spend it with my family.''

''You'll talk to them later,'' he rubs my upper arm comfortingly, ''I know it's not the same as seeing them in person, but it's something.''

''Yeah. The Reapings will be soon too. Ugh, I can't even think about that right now,'' I rub my temples, ''I've got to go. See you tonight,'' I kiss his cheek and I'm on my way.

The next few hours pass dully - I have to negotiate contracts and sign for products I'm meant to endorse and I do none of these things without Daphne constantly quacking in my ear about this and that. If I were to accept any sort of job outside the company that the people in charge of controlling me didn't approve of, that'd probably be the end of everything I held dear.

It's three when I'm finished with all the dull stuff. Some people recognize me in the streets and I have to smile and greet them and maybe hug some of them like a good girl that I am. They do pay for everything I do, so I guess they have the right to call my name and ask for things even though they're complete strangers. I'm used to that, too. I've rarely had an uncomfortable experience with the 'fans', and I know there is a bodyguard somewhere in the crowd at all times ready to jump in should something happen. I'm always in someone's line of vision, always under surveillance.

I get to grab something to eat back at the company and take a couple of minutes to just breathe. All of a sudden, I think of Finnick. I haven't heard from him or seen him in a while. I decide to call him.

''Mari?'' he sounds as tired as ever.

''You alive?''

''Barely. You?''

''Same ol'. You comin' tonight?''

''I'm _obliged_ to come.''

I sigh. I take a moment too long apparently because Finnick is already calling my name asking if I'm still there.

''Yeah, I'm here,'' I chuckle, ''Got lost in thought.''

''You okay?''

''Yeah, I was just thinking... How amazing it'd be if I could celebrate my birthday in District 4,'' I say, ''You wouldn't be _obliged_ to come.''

He chuckles wearily. ''Then I'd love to come.''

''Are you sure you're okay?'' I ask him, catching certain worrisome undertones in the way he speaks to me.

''Yeah, I'm just tired, I-,'' he swallows, ''I've been very busy. Doing things... I'll have to tell you in person. You should know too.''

A feeling of dread comes over me. Whatever it is, of course he can't say it over the phone - I always seemed to forget that there was more than a high chance of our phones being tracked and spied on.

''Alright,'' I say, trying to make it sound light, ''I'll see you tonight.''

I doubt we could really talk at the party, even if we distanced ourselves. The only place we were ever really able to speak freely was the roof, and even there we tried to be as quiet as possible. Paranoia is essential when it comes to staying safe in the Capitol.

I can feel my energy dropping so I find more coffee to flood my system with, and then I'm off to that interview. Two men come to the company, one with a camera and one with a ridiculously small microphone - top fashion - and once the parapet background with the advertisements is adjusted, I get to start answering questions. They're all dull too - it's never anything new or interesting - but this time I'm asked what it was like appearing in a film, especially of that sort; and what it was like working with these amazing artists; and what it was like working side by side with artists born and bred in the Capitol. Was it intimidating? Was it humbling? Did I feel like utter district crap just being in their presence? They never asked that, but they meant it. I may be a superstar, but no one lets me forget where I came from. I don't mind, I'm proud of District 4. It's them who seem to think it something shameful.

I do two more interviews with two other teams of two journalists each, and all I do in between is change my hair a bit and switch up my outfit to make it look like those may have been recorded on separate occasions. They're all equally dull, and by the time I'm done, around five, my energy seems to be dropping again. I need to start getting more sleep, I think, but I know I won't.

The last thing on my schedule is a short photoshoot - Daphne seems to have been merciful and cut my schedule for today in half because I could swear there were more things on it yesterday. I feel grateful, and with more coffee, I get to the destination.

It turns out to be a really short and simple photoshoot, nothing like fashion editorials - no beauty butchering and changing clothes a hundred times in an hour; and it's followed by a birthday interview - which turns out not to be so dull after all. I actually find a few questions interesting and catch myself smiling genuinely, but I never forget to answer the way it is expected of me. There is no question in the world that could have me unprepared or make me say the wrong thing. My training had made sure of that too.

The moment it's all over, Daphne is trying to burn my phone.

''I'm coming!'' I say instead of hello.

''You better,'' she says, but then I hear excitement in her voice, ''Oh Marinelle, this dress is unreal! Unreal!''

''Okaaay.''

''Just come over already so we can start getting you ready. Oh you'll love it! Love it!'' And just like that, she ends the call.

Daphne is weird. I do not think she is necessarily a bad person, but she is definitely, utterly weird.

I manage to make it home around six, though barely, and the stylist team seems to be tossing me around like a doll before I can even properly enter. Daphne is talking without a moment's pause, most of it slips past my ears, but I hear enough to know she's telling me about who will be there and whom I should have the courtesy to talk to. I just try to relax and obey so that the next few hours can pass as quickly as possible. In the process, I try to think of a way to spend a polite amount of time with everyone important, do my duty and then slip away with Leto and Finnick for a while. The thought of Finnick makes a knot tie in my stomach. Whatever he means to tell me cannot be good, and I just know it. But then Daphne wakes me from those thoughts.

''Your family wishes to talk to you,'' with a smile she clacks over in her high heels and puts a small device on the vanity table in front of me, and when she presses a button, there's a screen - a picture hovering in the air. I can see the faces of people I love most in the world, and it takes all in me not to start crying and ruin my make-up. They're waving and greeting me all at the same time and Trent is making a fool of himself and I laugh, swallowing back the feelings risen to my throat.

''Hey, baby!!!!''

''She's no longer a baby now!!''

''Hey, happy birthday, old woman!'' Trent waves and makes a face.

''You're sixteen, you're not that far behind!'' I argue, ''And it's not my birthday yet!''

''It will be in two hours.''

''How are you, baby?'' my mother asks, and I tell her I'm fine, I'm not tired at all, I'm having loads of fun too, and she knows I'm lying, and I know she knows, but we play the game anyway, and we pretend to believe we're fooling each other because that makes it easier for us to sleep at night. They assure me they're fine, too, that the entire district is doing well, and that they're all proud of me. I don't believe they're all proud of me, or Finnick for that matter - I've heard certain stories - but in the confinement of my apartment I don't mind at all. We do what we have to do, and we don't do it for ourselves.

''Well, we don't want to waste your time any longer, sweetheart, I'm sure there's a lot of things you should be doing now,'' mom says.

''Have fun tonight,'' dad smiles. They've learned to be so cool and complacent, it's almost sad.

''Watch what you're doing, no drinking and stuff,'' Trent mockingly shakes a finger at me, and dad playfully smacks the back of his head. I chuckle - I love seeing them all smile, but I know very well that there's so much more behind those smiles.

''The Reaping's in a few days. I'll see you soon,'' I smile back and before any of us can say much more, Daphne has ended the call and snatched the device.

''You're all set,'' Lucius says with satisfaction, and I wasn't really aware that he never stopped working on my face while I talked. It's no wonder Lucius is deemed the best and most expensive make-up artist in the Capitol, because he never fails to amaze me. I can barely stop staring at myself in the mirror. It's a lot of make-up, but it doesn't look like a lot and it's definitely not over the top - he knows I don't like the typical Capitol fashion and he still sells it all as my trademark style. And I love it. The hair too.

''Now, the dress!'' Daphne claps excitedly, before she pulls me into the closet. The dress is spread over a specially crafted cushion placed for the sole purpose of shielding the dress from any possible harm. And when I see it, I can see why Daphne was all excited back there. The dress is nothing short of a work of art. It's nothing like anything I've ever worn, and I've worn my fair share of gowns and dresses.

''Oh my. Daphne, it's amazing.''

''I know! Try it on! Try it!''

I can barely stop looking at it. What's so beautiful about it is its utter simplicity compared to the typical Capitol fashion. It's a long, waisted, sleeveless dress of simple cut with no cleavage, but the black lace and ornaments on it give you the feeling that it's made of black butterflies ready to flutter away any moment now. And it's custom-tailored too, according to my measurements, so it looks perfect on me.

''Oh, you look stunning!''

''Daphne, why have you insisted on dressing me in all those ridiculous dresses when things like this exist?'' I twirled in front of the mirror, ''I had no idea you had such great taste.''

''Oh shush you. This is a new designer, I've never even heard of him. He's surely earned himself a good start of career with this one. Ce-Cena...Cinna... something.''

''Well, whoever he is, he's an artist.''

''Time to go, sweetie!'' Daphne claps again, but this time with urgency, ''Put on the shoes and let's go.''

From this moment on it's a procession I emotionally completely distance myself from. I may have found a way to work on autopilot, because when I look back and recall typical appearances like this, it's almost in a haze. And I'm not talking about the actual party, but what comes before it. You have to greet fans before the entrance and you have to pose and answer questions and whatnot. And I've become ridiculously good at it. 

On a good day, it may even be fun sometimes. And this day hasn't been so bad, if you don't count Finnick behaving oddly. Maybe, just maybe, this won't turn out to be a disaster.


	3. Chapter 3

When the walk down the carpet and everything that comes with it is done, I get to actually join the party. And it's out in the open in front of the President's mansion - he was so kind as to insist on lending the space himself, and there were talks of him actually making an appearance, though small chance of that, I knew - and it looks pretty much majestic. It's the fanciest thing ever - formalwear and ridiculous gowns and head-dresses everywhere and fancy drinks and food of supreme quality. Before I can actually get to doing anything, someone has taken my arm and twined it around theirs. I look up to meet the taller person, and I see Leto's smiling face.

''You can't do without an escort,'' he smiles, ''You look stunning.''

''Thank you. You're not so bad yourself.''

So he does his best to remain by my side while I talk to boring old people and weird younger people, and in between he tries to make sure I get to have some fun as well. The best thing is I'm away from Daphne and her demands. I can't even express how grateful I am to Leto, but all I can think of is how much I don't want to be here, how much I want to distance myself from it all, how much I wish I could just run away and hide from the world. Before I can really say anything of value to him, we're dragged off somewhere else again, to the next person I'm supposed to entertain. I don't get to really speak to him until the first dance, and even then it's with utmost caution and a fake smile on my face.

''Have you seen Finnick?'' I mutter, as we do the waltz perfectly.

''He's in the crowd somewhere,'' Leto's smile reflects mine, ''Is everything alright?''

''I don't know. You'll have to leave me with him for a while. You think you could get us anything resembling privacy for a few minutes?''

''I could do my best.''

And so we dance a while, and when that is done, we find Finnick on the other side of the courtyard, engaged in a conversation with an older woman that has done everything in her power to look twenty years younger. He's smiling but it's not reaching his eyes. Looking at him I feel like I'm looking in a mirror.

''Excuse me,'' I take on a sweet tone and smile at the lady, though my interruption is nothing short of rude, ''Would you mind if I steal him for just one dance?'' And of course, she shakes her head and smiles and says something polite, though she probably wants nothing but to devour Finnick and murder the pestilence that is me. 

I drag Finnick away to dance with me, and in the corner of my eye I can see Leto engaging with everyone who meant to talk to me, stalling the procession of people I have yet to go though. He's buying me precious time. If that's not a best friend, I don't know what is. Sometimes I wondered if I was right to trust him, but then moments like these assured me.

''You look gorgeous,'' Finnick says.

''Why thank you. That coming from Finnick Odair, most women in Panem would want to kill me if they heard.'' He laughs weakly, and it almost sounds like a sigh. ''What did you want to tell me?''

''Walls have ears here.''

''No one can hear us through this music, unless we're wearing microphones.''

''I just- I wanted to warn you.''

''Warn me? Smile,'' I remind him. We always had to keep up the smiles. He grins. It's a fake grin, but to an unknowing eye it looks as genuine as can be.

''You're turning eighteen,'' he says, ''After midnight, you're an adult. Whatever courtesies they've been showing you because you were underage end here.''

''What are you talking about?'' I ask, but I have a feeling I know. If it's things of sexual nature he's referring to, I've had my fair share of creeps bothering me. Nothing ever happened, of course, but I haven't been exactly shielded from people who wanted to exploit me in that way. I could handle myself so far.

''What I'm talking about is I want you to be really careful. Focus even more on what you do. Obey. Don't give them the opportunity for anything, any way you can.''

''Finnick, I-,'' the smile is still on his face but his eyes look sad, and something in me has broken again, ''Are you- Do they make you-''

''They had the decency to wait until I was legally of age,'' he says, still with that smile, and I feel so sick to my stomach I want to puke.

''How- W-When?'' I don't really realize I'm not coherent.

''It's been months. I keep the rich satisfied, I get to keep my people alive.''

My first instinct is to cover my mouth in shock and disgust, but I remember not to do that. I feel sick, and so so very sorry for Finnick that I want nothing but to hug him and somehow shield him from the rest of the world. But there's no way I can shield him, and I know that too, and at this particular moment I can feel the angry tears forming in my eyelids and it takes a squeeze from him as a reminder to control myself. 

''Smile,'' he warns, and I go from frowning to a chuckle, so it looks like he just scared me in a prank or something. ''You're good at this,'' he says.

''I hate the world,'' I say.

''I've kept you busy too long,'' he starts to escort me back to Leto, but I pull him back.

''You can't keep on doing this.''

''But I have to.''

''There has to be a way out.''

''Trust me, if there was one, I'd take it.''

I feel like screaming.

''I won't let them touch me,'' I say, and he smiles genuinely for the first time.

''I believe you.''

''I'll find a way out,'' I say, ''I want out. I'm done with this. I'm sick of the Capitol. I wanna go back to the district.''

''Maybe one day,'' he says, ''Not now. Not yet, Mari. It's not about you or me.''

''Don't you think I know that? The things I do, do you think I do them for me?''

''I know you know, but-''

''Enough is enough. And maybe- maybe we could run away. With our families, go beyond the districts. If not by foot, then by ship. My father- I could-''

''Are you listening to yourself? Mari, you could only run away to death.''

''Right now, dying free sounds much better than living a slave.''

''We don't get to decide that for the rest of the district.''

And it's true. Damn him, he's right. Perhaps I would have flung myself off the roof long ago, had it not been for my family, and the rest of the district too.

''Just be careful,'' he says, before I'm back with Leto and mingling with the people, and he's back with his customers. The thought of it makes me sick again. 

Leto senses the further change in my mood, as he always does. When he asks me what's wrong, I don't tell him, and he doesn't push it. He just tries his best to save me from everyone for the rest of the night, and I do my best not to let anyone notice my real mood. I won't let them touch me. I won't let them touch me. And it's not like they're not using me all up already anyway. I'm preparing new music and a concert soon, and I'll have to go through promotions and appearances and the Reaping is in a few days as well. When could they possibly slip prostitution in? I don't know, but I find myself thinking about cutting people's throats with kitchen knives.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days, I barely get to catch my breath. I'm so busy, it doesn't leave me much time to think about anything. I don't see Finnick at all, but I can only afford a second for it to trouble me. On the other hand, working with Leto more almost has a healing effect on me. It makes me forget about the world.

The day before my trip to District 4 and the Reaping, I am summoned by President Snow. It's never pleasant - that, and it makes me want to run in the opposite direction. But I breathe deeply and make my way to the top floor of our company, where he is today, in his office. He's almost never here, which adds to my nervousness.

''Ah, Miss Harlaw. Please, do sit,'' he motions toward the chair with all the politeness in the world. I try not to let my bowels twist and turn as I seat myself across from him, his desk the only thing between us. That's too close by every standard. If I had it my way, I'd be a continent away from this man, me and everyone I love. If other continents still existed, that is. I don't know what I believe on that matter.

''You called for me, Mr. President?''

''Yes, I've been meaning to talk to you these days. I haven't had the chance to wish you a happy birthday. I am very pleased with what you've achieved in the amount of time you've been here. You are a very talented young woman.''

''Thank you... sir.''

''I believe you're preparing your first concert? That is no small feat. You seem to be running other entertainers out of business,'' he smiles at me, and it almost gives me goosebumps. I don't want him to smile at me.

I smile back. ''That hasn't really been my intention, sir. But I'm very excited.''

He probably knows I'm as fake as he is. I don't care.

''Well, either way, congratulations. All of Panem seems to be smitten with you. The concert will be broadcast to every district straight from the Capitol.''

For some reason, that fact makes me sick to my stomach too.

''I only hope to make my district proud,'' I say what he wants to hear. He nods appreciatively. All I want is to snatch his pen and stick it in his eye. And I realize I've been having violent thoughts lately. Maybe I'm not as dead inside as I have been. That's good. That's always good. Because for some reason, I have a feeling I might have to fight back in the days to come.

''I'm sure you have,'' he replies, ''What you've achieved, you've achieved through hard work. Everything you have now, the fame and luxury and everything that comes with it, you've earned with hard work. It is with hard work that you'll have to keep it as well.''

''I'm willing to work as hard as ever, sir. That is no problem for me.''

''That's good, that's good,'' he nods, ''Because the industry you're in is merciless. Nothing like your fishing and netting back home. You're aware of that yourself.''

I have a feeling where this is going, but I try not to jump ahead of it. President Snow gets up and starts pacing around while speaking, gesticulating the way only manipulators could, before he sits on the edge of his desk, very casually and at ease.

''There are new talented people out there, each person as good as the next. They're all competition. One of them might just run you out of business, Miss Harlaw, and then you'd no longer be able to help your district the way you've been helping them so far. No more extra food. No more sharing your earnings. Your father could lose his ship just like that,'' he snaps his fingers, and then smiles almost kindly.

''I won't let that happen, sir.''

''I'm sure you won't. That is why you must... step up the game, as I'm aware they say in show-business,'' he chuckles, ''You must make more contacts. Keep your popularity flaming. If you do not, you will be forgotten as quickly as you were all of a sudden loved, and your family will be left with nothing.''

We couldn't be left with nothing. We never have been with nothing, not before all of this, not before I was even born. But he said it as though stating a fact, and with such certainty, that I believed him. I do believe him, damn him. I believe we'd be left to starve, left for dead. I believe he'd do it. 

''What do you suggest I do, sir?''

''There is... a client of mine that has been wanting to meet you for quite some time now. He is a very influential and respected businessman, and as he let me know - a huge fan of yours. You will meet him, after the Reaping appearances. This alliance could be useful in more ways than one.''

''I will do that, sir.''

''Good. You will keep him satisfied, and I will do my best to keep your career running,'' he smiles.

''Satisfied, sir?''

''I am quite sure you know what I mean, Miss Harlaw.''

I do know. Damn him, I do know. Finnick was right. But I won't let them touch me. I won't let them touch me.

''Perhaps,'' I say, ''And should this client of yours be left unsatisfied?''

''You don't want to hear the whole alternative, Miss Harlaw.''

I try not to throw an angry fit or say something inappropriate and earn myself some sort of punishment as we end our conversation. I manage to finish it all off calmly and stay in control of myself, though on the inside I am demolishing the building. There's nothing to calm me on my way home, nothing to distract me. On some other day, the fact that I have the rest of the day off would have done the trick of pacifying me. I realize I'm shaking. I won't let them touch me. Whatever I have to do, I won't let them touch me. 

Back at my apartment, an Avox is packing everything that's been ordered to her for my trip to the District, and all I get to do is add a few more things of my choice. I decide to watch TV and eat some grapes - I'm allowed only a handful at this hour - hoping to distract myself. Thinking about this 'meeting' before the time for it comes doesn't exactly seem useful, and it's only nerve-wrecking. I won't let them touch me. Whatever I have to do, I won't let them touch me.

One of the finale episodes of the last season of Hunger Games is on TV. There's always a re-run before the Reapings. All three of the remaining Tributes are Careers. I know what will ensue, and I'm not in the mood for it, so I turn the TV off. If I don't get some fresh air or talk to someone, I will lose my damn mind. Calling Finnick or Leto isn't the safest option, but I can always have some precious solitude and fresh air on the rooftop. And it's late. If nothing else, the city lights at night could always calm me.

When I find Finnick there, I realize I've never been happier to see him. He asks no questions when I hug him, and I'm grateful for that. For a while we just stand there like that, until I start feeling dangerously close to crying.

''President Snow summoned me today.''

''I guessed.''

''I won't let them touch me.''

''Hey,'' he touches my cheek to make me look up at him, ''I'm here. At least I'm here. You'll always have me.''

''I'll find a way, you know?''

''When you do, let me know,'' he smiles sadly.

''I'm supposed to meet this man after the Reapings,'' I say, walking up to the edge and looking out onto the glimmering city streets.

''Then maybe we'll just swim away when we get to the district,'' he jokes to comfort me.

''I almost forgot. You're coming.''

''Yeap,'' he nods, ''Mentor.''

I want to shudder, partially from the breeze up here and partially from the thought of mentoring a kid that's probably going to die violently whatever the mentor does. I wouldn't want to do that.

''Another year of this crap,'' I say, crossing my arms as though hugging myself. There really is a chill in the air.

''It'll be over soon,'' he says, and I don't see him put his jacket on my shoulders until I feel the warmth.

''Three more years for Trent. This one, and two more,'' I say, ''That's not as soon as I'd like it to be.''

''Don't worry. What are the odds?''

''What were anyone's?'' I ask right back, but he answers with silence. I'm a nervous wreck, and now I'm scared also - absolutely frightened for my brother. I can't wait for the Reaping to be over, so I can go on living with relief for another year.

''I wish there was some way we could just... end the games,'' he says, staring at the streets below himself.

''And take over the Capitol,'' I add, ''Take down Snow.''

''In case they have microphones on the roof, now would be a good time to jump.''

''We've said worse,'' I shrug. Slowly and gradually, he starts laughing, and then I start laughing with him, and nothing's even really that funny but it's what we need. It's therapeutic.

''Maybe one day,'' he says when we've calmed ourselves.

''Maybe one day,'' I nod in agreement, before putting his jacket back on his shoulders, kissing his cheek, and making my way back to the apartment. 

He doesn't follow, he stays up there a while. We have a train to catch early in the morning, and I on the other hand want to use this rare chance I have of actually getting a normal amount of sleep. 

It's certainly better than pondering over our fates.


	5. Chapter 5

There's four of us in our train car - me, Daphne, Finnick, and the official Escort of District 4 - Amelia Cattermole. I haven't met Amelia before, nor do I wish to, but she seems to be Daphne's soulmate by what I can gather. They look equally ridiculous and have just about an infinity of interests in common. Their conversations and giggling really irk me, but I ignore them feeling thankful that at least Daphne won't be bothering me so much until the end of the trip. I don't talk much to anyone, though, not even Finnick. I am in a terrible mood, and there's no other way to say it. My very insides are twisting and turning, so I spend the whole trip lying down without the will to live. Finnick keeps me company, but he's in a bad mood himself. These rides are always the longest of my life.

When we get there, I feel the urge to just keep on walking and wander off the station. I want to go to the beach, to see the sea and smell it. I want to wander around the docks and the market and just watch people go about their daily duties. I want to see my old home, down close to the shore, and maybe take a swing in that net dad set up between two trees so long ago.

But I can't. I'm not allowed to wander off. We're escorted by a handful of Peacemakers to our accommodations, and since it's late already, we're supposed to rest until the Reaping tomorrow and take no visitors. The evening is dull, and I feel like swimming, and when I go to bed I find that I can't sleep - small wonder there - so I just stare at the ceiling trying not to think about tomorrow. It's way past curfew, and we're technically not even allowed to visit each other inside the building, but I text Finnick anyway and in a few minutes he's at my door, looking sleepy.

''Did I wake you?'' I ask apologetically.

''No, I was just about to lie down.''

''You can sleep here, I just couldn't be alone. I really... couldn't be alone.'' I feel like crying again all of a sudden.

''Hey, you okay?'' he holds my shoulder. I think I could crumble down by that much already.

''I will be,'' I nod, swallowing back everything that threatened to seep out of me.

''Here's what we're gonna do,'' he rubs my forearm, ''We're gonna talk until we pass out. That way we don't think about any of this. Okay?''

I nod. And we do, and he manages to do the impossible - he makes me laugh. We talk until late in the night and try to keep our laughter quiet enough as to not disturb the peace. I suggest it's time for bed when I see how utterly exhausted he is, and he asks me if I'm sure and whether I'm okay now. I assure him that yes, I'm okay, and we pass out - or at least he does, because I can't find sleep for a while yet.

The next day I'm awoken by Finnick before Daphne can bore a hole through my head with her shrill voice. He's all ready and dressed up for the day, and I feel like sleeping a while longer before I realize that I've actually slept in already. I'm supposed to eat something and go see my family. I jump out of bed at that realization, and Finnick laughs at my sudden action.

''I told your manager your phone died while you were asleep, but that you'll be ready. I know you fell asleep late,'' he smiles, but his smile has a touch of sadness in it, or I'm imagining it.

''Thank you, Finnick,'' I say with a scowl, my eyes still almost closed and my voice raspy, ''What time is it?''

''Noon soon.''

''The Reaping is at two! I need to see my family, like, right now,'' I say, all in a hurry to put myself in decent clothes, ''They'll be escorted here in an hour.''

''I left you some breakfast on the desk. I'll be with Amelia in the conference room down below if you need me. You might want to turn your phone on now before Daphne decides to storm in.''

With final buttoning up, I kiss him on the cheek before storming past him to take my phone. ''You're an amazing friend, Finnick. Thank you.''

''Don't mention it,'' he smiles before he makes it for the door, ''See you at the Reaping.''

That ''see you at the Reaping'' sent a chill through my bones for some reason. The Reaping always did, but being with Finnick here - this is our first Reaping that we came to as close friends. We were perfect strangers before. Now we share each other's burden and because of that, everything is even more sickening. 

I get ready, put some food in me, finish every discussion Daphne always has for me, and make my way down to the room always reserved for visits. I'm escorted by a single couple of Peacemakers. I come early and wait there alone, feeling more nervous with every minute that passes.

I seem to have lost track of time because when my family is finally escorted in, I'm almost startled. I hardly know whom to hug first, so it all turns into one big messy hug and me trying not to have teary eyes in front of them. They all look well, which pleases me, but they also look as worried as always, and I hate that they worry over me. I'm not the one in the districts.

''Look at my baby,'' my mom says, ''Always as pretty as can be, my sweetheart.''

''Well, I have a whole team making sure of that,'' I laugh it off, ''How are you guys? Tell me everything! Look at Trent! How did you grow so tall?''

''By eating us out of house and home,'' dad jokes, ''A healthy boy.''

''I'm hardly a boy anymore, but okay,'' Trent retorts with a smile.

''Of course,'' mom smiles back.

Trent is taller by a hand than me now, I realize. And looks grown much stronger than when last I saw him. He is growing up, and I'm not present to witness it. The thought saddens me.

''He's grown alright, but how's he doing in school?'' I ask with a taunting grin.

''Good enough,'' he replies before mom or dad can open their mouths.

''Yeah, yeah,'' dad grumbles, not unkindly, ''At least he's not as lazy as he used to be. He's helping around on the ship. He's not a bad fisherman either.''

''He's very helpful,'' mom argues, rubbing his arm lovingly, ''Makes quite an earning.''

''Look at you moving up in the world!'' I tease him.

''Well, I can't hope to stand in my sister's shoes, but I'm content,'' he smiles, and then I ruffle his short hair and squeeze him in a tight hug the way I always used to when we were younger. He laughs with a few ''Let me breathe!'' protests. When we laugh it all off, a silence descends on the room, and it isn't exactly pleasant.

''I've missed you a lot,'' I say, ''A few more years, I guess. A few more years and I'll find a way. To be closer to you.''

''You take care of yourself,'' dad says seriously, and speaks right into my eyes as though to make sure I understand the importance of this, ''You stay safe. That is all that matters. We are doing fine and there is nothing to worry about here in the District.''

Mom nods. ''You know we're proud of you. What you're doing for us is more than we could ask for. There is no way anyone could go hungry or unprotected. You've done more than you think.''

''What they're trying to say is you've kept us safe and fed and you have to focus on keeping yourself safe, sis. The Capitol remains a dangerous place for you. It's stupid to pretend we're not aware of it,'' Trent says, sounding older than I can remember him being.

''I'm perfectly safe,'' I assure them, for a hundredth time, ''I watch what I say and do, and whom I trust. I'm not seeking trouble. All that stuff.''

''Good,'' mom says.

We talk a while longer and time absolutely flies. Sooner than I expected, the door opens harshly and a Peacemaker makes an announcement. 

''Visit time is over. All eligible persons must take their place in the procession for the Reaping. The Reaping ceremony will take place in fifteen minutes.''

''Well, that's my cue. Time not to get picked,'' Trent smiles as they get up to meet the Peacemakers, before they can grab them roughly instead and all but drag them out. I manage to hug dad only one more time, before they're rushed out.

''Time not to get picked,'' I say, but the door has closed already.

Daphne is there to open them before I can realize it. When that woman moves around, sometimes it's as though her feet don't touch the ground. She's here, there, and everywhere, and always looking as energetic as ever. She's saying a lot of things as she's rushing me to the stylists, and she doesn't stop talking until I'm done getting ready. I catch the most important stuff, but it's pretty much routine at this point - I know exactly what to do, say, and behave like when I make my appearance. I'm nervous, but not the stage sort of nervous - I'm basically ruined by anxiety that comes every year until the Reaping is safely over. It's almost too hard to breathe at certain points, and my mouth goes dry and my teeth numb. But I learned how to deal with those symptoms long ago.

When Daphne escorts me to the stage, the procession is already over, and the people are waiting for the Reaping to begin. I try to find my brother in his row, but fail. I remember to walk onto the stage gracefully, smile, and wave at the people. The greeting that comes from them isn't exactly like that of a concert audience - none of these people are exactly ecstatic to be here. I wonder how many of them resent me but push that thought aside - I have enough things on my mind to make me nervous, there is no need for anything extra.

Amelia steps onto the stage exactly when I do and we both take the appropriate places because it is not our time to take the microphone yet. That privilege belongs to the mayor, who opens the Reaping every year. I can see Finnick in the other corner of the stage, giving me a barely noticeable nod and reassuring smile. 

The mayor is escorted by a group of Peacemakers, a number much larger than necessary, before he makes his way to the microphone. He is welcomed with an appropriate reaction from the people, but everyone hates him. Everyone has always hated the pawn of the Capitol who always tried to make us believe he was doing his absolute best and most for the District. 

The mayor checks the microphone before his voice booms throughout the square. Same as every year, he re-tells the noble history of Panem - lists everything that it's survived, re-tells the story of the Dark Days and the fate of District 13, until finally he comes to how the Hunger Games started and why. There is a whole short film played for us every year too, and I find that I know every word said in it. For a moment I fantasize about spitting on the man, and I don't know who's worse - President Snow or his pawns who contribute to making sure he stays firmly seated in his throne. The mayor speaks of the Hunger Games as though it were justice, some price to nobly pay, and we have to pretend that we're alright with it all, every single year. It's an unbreakable prison.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor, before he lists District 4's past Victors, with Finnick among them. He bows his head humbly and greets the crowd when he hears his name said, and smiles that charming smile he's been taught to use. All of this is being televised after all. I check myself, make sure my smile is plastered on flawlessly, and do my best to look happy I'm there, back in my home district.

Then the mayor introduces Amelia Cattermole, who finally steps up to the microphone, and the mayor is escorted back where he came from.

"Happy Hunger Games!'' Amelia announces happily, ''And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

She goes on to say how much of an honor it is for her to be here in District 4 and how happy she is and all that crap, before she announces me with an introduction that would have made me blush if any of it were honest. I have to react to the praises though, so I perfectly fake the shyness and humility. When I step up to the microphone, I'm greeted with applause that doesn't seem strong enough to be honest either. 

''Thank you,'' I say, and I hear my voice boom throughout the audience, ''Thank you so much. First of all, I would like to wish you all the best of luck. You have my endless love and support.''

The faces that stare back at me give me an unsettling feeling. For a moment I think how maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't exactly be safe for me after all to wander around alone in the District that used to be my home once.

''This is the happiest day of the year for me. The day I get to go home and see the people that I love.''

I realize all too well how utterly disturbing and sick that sounds. This is everything but the happiest day for anyone here. But I say what I know I have to say, with the entire act to go with it.

''Even all the way in the Capitol, I can feel your love and support. Even in the luxuries of the Capitol, I always think of home, and the smell of the sea. I thank you for my place in your hearts, and I thank the District for building the person I am today.''

And then I see him - Trent's face is beaming like the sun in that crowd; it is the only face I can see now. The anxiety from before floods over me again, and I think about the thirty-six slips of paper with his name on them in that glass ball. My heart skips a beat and a breath catches in my throat at that thought, but I manage to continue on flawlessly.

''I love you,'' I say, slightly deviating from the loosely beforehand constructed speech, ''I love you all.''

And then I hate myself passionately for the next sentence that comes out of my mouth. ''And may the odds be ever in your favor.''

I step down, and Amelia takes my place. The odds are never in our favor, I think. But there are thousands of slips in there. Time not to get picked. 

Amelia thanks me before she announces that it is time for our Tributes to be picked.

''Ladies first,'' Amelia announces with a smile, before she clocks on her heels to the glass ball with girls' names in it. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd seems to draw in a collective breath. Looking at the female faces in the crowd, I can almost see the fear pouring out of all of those eyes. There is no one I care about in that ball. Sure, there are a few friends from school that are in there, but it has been so long since we've seen each other or spoken a word to each other. I wouldn't want them to get picked, but I wouldn't be devastated if they did, as terrible as it sounds. The one I cared about is in the other glass ball.

Amelia crosses back to the microphone and reads the slip of paper. ''Molly Wellwood.''

There are murmurs in the crowd and a few gasps, and looks of horror on certain faces as the girl named Molly slowly steps out of the crowd, too shocked to cry, to react in any way. I guess right that she is fourteen years old; she looks like she's just started growing into a woman. She's skinny and boyish and looks like a weakling - I dare not think about her chances of survival in the arena. She's probably from a poorer family, by the looks of her. I want to shudder, but I control my countenance. Molly stands where she's supposed to stand, pale as a ghost, stunned and stupefied. I imagine her parents' reaction but dare not look to those who seemed to know the girl just a few moments before. There's no one standing up for her. No volunteers. Not even Careers. Are there no Careers for this year?

''And now for the boys,'' Amelia says, repeating the same process. And all I can think about how hard it is to breathe and how much louder my heart is than the clocking of her high heels. It's like this every year, but never in this intensity. I tell myself not to worry - there are thousands of slips in that ball. Thousands. Thousands. Thousands.

When she opens her mouth I think I might have a seizure. And then she says a name.

''Trent Harlaw.''


	6. Chapter 6

Now I'm certain I'm feeling the way that Molly girl must be feeling - I'm trying to remember how to breathe, to stand and not fall off of my heels. My lips are dry and there is a buzzing sound inside my skull - I hear vague sounds that must be voices of the people around me. I cannot register anything, all I'm trying to do is speak. Make a word come out. When Trent climbs the stage, he gives me a smile, but I seem so close to losing my balance that Daphne must have noticed it because now she's supporting me with her hand on my back, I realize. I do my best to fall back into reality, but blood simply won't pump to my head. I hear someone telling me to smile and pull myself together, it must have been Daphne. That's good, I can understand voices again. I know what to do - I know exactly what to do if only I could get myself to move without falling and speak.

I hear Daphne calling my name, asking me where I'm going, telling me to come back when I step to the microphone. I do what many have done before and would do in the future, but never for a complete stranger. ''I volunteer,'' I can hear a voice say, but it sounds so much different from my own.

There is dead silence in the crowd again, and I can hear Daphne hissing and Finnick's voice ask me what the hell I'm doing, but it's all in the distance. Amelia chuckles nervously into the microphone, standing next to me.

"Lovely!" says Amelia Cattermole, "I understand this handsome young man is your brother? But, as you are well aware, the rules are such that they do not permit two tributes of the same gender, so I'm afraid you cannot volunteer in your brother's place,'' she smiles that perfect smile for the cameras that could almost pass as kindness.

''I'm not volunteering in his place,'' I hear myself say again, ''I'm volunteering in Molly's place.''

There is a gasp in the crowd. I am fully back in the present moment now, aware of everything around me - my brother protesting more loudly than I deem appropriate, Finnick calling me back to good sense, Daphne hissing in anger, faces in the crowd staring back at me.

Amelia laughs nervously again. ''I do not think you are eligible, dear,'' she says, ''Your name was not in the ball. You are _the_ Marinelle. Capitol's sweetheart,'' she chuckles and grins again with that fake kindness and adoration.

I don't look at either Finnick, Daphne or Trent. I'm looking ahead, into the cameras, determined not to be swayed, determined to talk my way into that arena. I don't care about anything else. I have to be Tribute. I have to protect my own.

I put on that perfect smile I perfected so long ago. All of a sudden I feel confident I can do this - there is nothing else but this in the world; nothing else matters. I cannot think about anything else. My brother was picked. I have to ensure he wins.

''I believe I am eligible, Amelia,'' I say charmingly, looking at the camera, ''I was born and raised in District 4. I still carry a district name. I am eighteen years old. And I am sure there is no rule in the Games that says I cannot volunteer. I am of age and of the district.''

Amelia smiles nervously, before she rushes back to consult the crew - probably to contact the Game-makers and make sure of this. I'm not sure what I'm saying is true, but I'm hoping with every ounce of my being that it is. This is my only chance.

After a minute, she's back, and chuckling nervously, she says: ''It appears our lovely Marinelle is right - she is perfectly eligible after all and there is no rule that prohibits her from volunteering.''

The sounds in the crowd disappear again. Dead silence. I turn to Molly, and she's looking at me with watering eyes, looking as though she wants to tell me something, but she doesn't move, or make a sound.

Trent breaks the silence. ''No. No! It makes no sense! This isn't how it's supposed to go!'' and he says something about rules before he is restrained by Finnick, and I'm thankful that he's stepped in before the Peacemakers. There is no need to make a scandalous show and get on president Snow's bad side. This is still being televised, every moment of it.

I know perfectly well how to bring back the balance from that mishap. I speak into the microphone again. ''I am happy and proud to represent my beloved district.'' 

I could swear the faces that are staring back at me have changed, because I can no longer find any contempt.

''Well, that is just lovely!'' Amelia exclaims, ''The true spirit of the Games!''

I turn to Molly - I dare not look at anyone else on the stage just yet - and the girl mouths me a silent ''Thank you'' before leaving the stage on her cue.

''Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trills Amelia again.

Everyone claps, but slowly, not too fervently, almost sadly, and it seems honest this time. Oddly enough, what I think about is whether I could see the sea if I could stand just a little bit taller...

Amelia announces that it is time for the Tributes to shake hands. This is the first time I face my brother and look into his eyes. Trent looks so angry with me. There are angry tears in the bloody corners of his eyes. But I don't care. I'm going to keep him safe. He's going to win this.

Then we face the crowd again as the anthem of Panem plays. The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody - a group of Peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building. I've wondered why is it that the tributes are taken there, and assumed it is to make sure none of the tributes manage to escape even if they tried. I don't think anyone ever tried.

No one speaks to me on the way there. Trent is fuming, Finnick almost as much, and Daphne beyond all measures. The only one in a perfectly good mood is Amelia. I did give her quite a show and probably earned her a raise.

Once inside, I'm conducted to a room and left alone. And it is now that the battle with myself truly begins. And I cannot get upset now. There is no way I'm breaking down now. If nothing else, the crying would ruin my entire act for the cameras yet to be faced. I am not done with the cameras yet.

I manage to calm myself, somewhat relaxing on the couch. It is my parents who come to visit me, as I've expected. The families and friends of Tributes are allowed to visit before the Tributes are shipped off to the Capitol. Trent is my family, but since he's also Tribute, I'm not sure how this works now. I assume he won't be visiting just as I won't be visiting him, since we'll be spending plenty of time together now.

My mother has always been the one who worries too much, the one who's always paranoid and panicking, and my father has always been the cool one. That is why I'm as surprised as I've ever been to see dad crying and mom taking it all almost too well. I've never seen my father cry before. I've seen my mother cry plenty of times. Everything is wrong. 

My mom hugs me, and then my dad, but he is the one to cut the hug short and turn around almost with shame to wipe the tears away. I assume he doesn't want to cry, and more than anything he doesn't want us to see him cry. I could cry with him if I wanted to start, but I don't - not this time. Mom's calm demeanor is more worrying. The state she is in might bounce back and hit her harder than any of us could expect.

We say nothing for a few minutes. Dad is sniffling, turning around every now and then, and mom is just looking at me, holding my hand gently. Then I start talking. It all just pours out of me, one thing connecting to the other.

''There is no need to worry. I am here to protect Trent, and I will protect him. He will be Victor, no matter what I have to do. Do not forget that I am the Marinelle of the Capitol, my fans are numerous and many of them are rich. I have rich friends, and contacts throughout the Capitol. I will have plenty of sponsors, and Trent will not go without anything. We will not separate until the very end. We will outlast them all. I need you to believe me. I am not saying this to comfort you. I am saying this because the odds are absolutely in my favor.''

Dad is still crying. Mom only nods, a thoughtful look on her face. She seems to be focused on a spot in the couch. She gives my hand a squeeze, or maybe it's just a twitch, a spasm. Then after a while of silence, she says: ''I believe you.'' In my mind it translates to ''Either way I know I'm losing one of you for sure.'' And I don't care that I've done this to them. I don't care I've made it certain that they lose one child - me as I will make sure - because I would have done it again if I could. I would do anything to keep Trent safe.

I turn to dad and give him a hug. ''Don't you worry. Trent will come back home,'' I say to him quietly, and I can feel him sobbing against me. 

''But what about you,'' he barely utters, and I give him no answer.

''And whatever happens - you fight through it,'' I say finally, ''For us. Promise me. Promise me, mom. Whatever happens, you go on and you go on with strength. Don't let all of this be in vain. Promise me.''

''We promise,'' she says.

''You take care of each other. If all goes wrong in the end, and you need anything, Finnick will be there to help. You fight through it.''

I'm sure she knows I'm talking about the worst case scenario even though not directly, but she acknowledges everything stoically. And to think all I've dreaded was my mother's reaction. This is odd and new. It is, in a way, even more worrying.

They must know what our chances are. I mean, they're sure I'll protect Trent for as long as I live, and he'll try to protect me, but I might fall and leave him standing alone. I don't think about the reverse possibility - in my mind there is no way he could fall on my watch.

And we could die both, and they know that perfectly. We might be in some ways ahead of certain districts, but the Careers are beasts not to be reckoned with and they would be our prime danger. Neither me nor Trent could ever compare. They must know that.

''Don't worry about us,'' dad finally says, ''You do your best.''

I nod in acknowledgment. Yes, I would do my very best. I don't know what my chances are, but my determination must be the sharpest. I can bet none of the other Tributes has motivation as strong as mine.

And then the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging before they're rushed out. I tell them I love them, and they say it back, and when the door closes, I don't know what to do with myself. I wonder whom they visited first - me or Trent. Never has any family in our district had to endure all this.

I don't really expect anyone else, so I only try to breathe properly and keep myself perfectly collected for the cameras, waiting for someone to pick me up. When Finnick enters, I'm genuinely surprised to see him. He isn't required to visit me although he is my friend, since he is my mentor as well. The fact that Finnick is my mentor now dawns on me, and it makes a sickening knot twist in my stomach. He is to mentor both me and Trent, and I haven't thought about it until now. This isn't easy on him either.

''Hey,'' is all I can say.

''Hey,'' he says, sitting opposite me. I take a seat myself.

''You're my mentor now, so... what's with the visit,'' I can't think of anything else to say in the moment.

''I'm still your friend,'' he says, makes a thoughtful pause, then continues, ''This might be our last conversation in complete privacy, you know.''

''I know. Privacy is never guaranteed in the Capitol.''

He pauses again. He's thinking about something, and he looks as though he doesn't know how exactly to say it to me.

''You don't know what it's like in there,'' he finally says, ''But I do. Everything you've seen or imagined is nothing compared to how it is when it's you in there, fighting for survival. I'm supposed to mentor you, but I'm not sure how. There is no one way of winning. Every Game is different. A tactic from one Game almost certainly can't be applied to another. I will teach you what I can, what I know. As for sponsors, well, hopefully you won't have to worry about that at least.''

He's rambling, and he's pretty much saying everything I already know.

''Your fame may be one of your advantages, and your brother another,'' he continues, ''Having someone you trust absolutely on your team is something no one else has in this Game. There will be alliances, but there won't be absolute trust. Which makes a bigger difference than it seems. You won't have to sleep with one eye open watching your ally.''

That is all true. But this is all the good stuff. I'm waiting for him to list the bad.

''But your brother is also your disadvantage. He is your pressure point. He is your biggest weakness, and he may be used as such. If you're put in that situation, I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to fall for it. You fight on. You do not show them hesitation. Not for one moment. When you do, you're dead, and so is Trent.''

This is all also true, and I haven't thought about it for a second. Not that I've had time to think about what might happen in the arena, still - this was crucial and logical. I make sure to keep this in mind.

''Same goes for him. He could also be a disadvantage in another way. You might be targeted, and right away. If you do not make an alliance with someone else, you will be a target and a threat to be eliminated as soon as possible. I do not advise you two keeping to yourselves only.''

''Careers?'' I ask.

''That is a double-edged sword,'' he explains, ''Making an alliance with Careers will certainly ensure your safety for a while, until it's time for the group to separate. Then you're right there for them to kill. If you think you can handle that, sure. If you don't, then don't risk it. In the end, it's up to you to make that decision. But I'll have plenty of time to tell you all of this. We're not wasting our time of privacy on that. Listen, I have certain connections,'' he says, ''So gifts from sponsors will be generous. I will pull every muscle I can. You will have whatever you need. Make sure you stick it out until the end.''

''I plan to,'' I say, thinking how he sounds as though he's betting on me, expecting me to be the one of the two siblings to come out of all this, and the thought makes me angry. It will be Trent.

''Saying my name on the camera wouldn't be the smartest thing, and obviously I will watch you all the time and make sure to send help when you need it, but in case I don't realize how endangered you are, we need a code, a signal. Something to let me know you're asking for help.''

''I could sing,'' I suggest.

''You'll probably do that anyway if you want to keep the public entertained and the sponsors busy.''

''Not my songs,'' I say, ''Old district songs.''

''That will do,'' he nods. He looks completely stressed out.

''I guess this means I won't have to _satisfy_ that friend of the president,'' I huff, ''What a shame, and he was so influential.''

Finnick smiles, but looks so tired. ''Out of the frying pan and into the fire.''

''My mentor is the youngest Victor ever. I have more advantages than anyone might think,'' I smile.

''Don't,'' he shakes his head, then buries his face in his hands, ''Please, don't.''

''What?'' I move to sit next to him, and try to pry his hands off his face. ''Finnick.''

''Don't rely on me with this,'' he says, and I've never seen his eyes hold so much, ''Don't put this on me.''

''We'll train hard,'' I say and I realize _I'm_ comforting _him_. He takes my hand. 

''We'll find a way out,'' he says with a self-assuring nod, echoing my own words, and I believe him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not before I die, but we will find a way out.

''If both of us die,'' I say, and it takes more strength than I thought, ''Try to be there for my parents. I told them they could count on you.''

''Of course.''

When he's escorted out and I'm left alone again, I'm certainly waiting to be picked up and escorted out as well. But to my utter surprise, someone else enters. It's Daphne, and scandalously, she's crying. It doesn't seem fake either.

''Oh, sweetie!'' she wails, ''This is so unfair. So unfair!''

''I know,'' I say, sounding uncertain even to my own ears, trying to make sense of this.

''I cannot stay long,'' she sniffs, ''I informed Leto instantly. He says he's betting on you and though you'll hate him for it, he's hoping you win. He says he believes in you.''

The way she's sobbing and sniffing make me almost question reality. Am I dreaming? Is this genuine affection? It seems so. I find myself not knowing how to react. My heart quickly softens, though.

''You are fit,'' she says, calming her sobs and nodding fervently, as though trying to persuade _me_ , ''You've been trained most rigorously, I can bet you're as fit and enduring as any of the Careers. And you're stealthy. All that difficult dance training will pay off. Your body is your strongest weapon.''

That is true. But I'm still trying to grasp the fact that Daphne is here, crying and worrying over me, and giving me her piece of advice.

''I may tire less and be swift and stealthy but all I've ever killed are different types of fish,'' I say, ''These are people.''

''You can use nets, tridents, knives,'' she continues as though ignoring my reasoning, ''Try to get your hands on daggers. And maybe a bow. If you're going to keep a low profile.''

I am, oddly enough, moved. Really moved.

''I will,'' I finally say. 

And than the unbelievable happens - she throws herself at me in a sudden and strong hug. It takes me a moment to hug her back.

''Good luck,'' she whispers, stifling a sob.

''Thank you,'' I say.

''I have to go. All of those plans of yours to cancel,'' she laughs nervously, wiping her nose with a tissue.

''Sorry about the inconvenience.''

''Come back to us and all forgiven,'' she says.

I can only nod before she too is gone.

Life has just become too much to grasp.


	7. Chapter 7

It's a short drive from the Justice Building to the Train Station, during which Trent and I do not exchange a single word. He's angry with me, but I can also see that if he starts talking, he will start crying, and we couldn't have that. He couldn't afford that. There's reporters and cameras everywhere, and you could see our faces on a big screen on the wall showing every single step of ours. I try to put on a smile, the one people always expect of me. Trent, on the other hand, looks moody. He doesn't realize that the Games have already started, and he's already supposed to start fighting for survival. He needs to start doing his thing, whatever that is, right about now. A moody boy doesn't exactly get sponsors, and maybe, just maybe, he won't be able to always rely on mine.

My brother looks bigger than me, and he can probably punch harder than me. But he is still my younger brother, and though he may be stronger than me he's not nearly as physically fit and ready as I am. And perhaps he could survive without my help, but I wouldn't have been able to live with him trying. He's angry with me, because I put us both in a situation he thinks he could handle alone. He's angry because I will put myself to die out there to leave him as Victor. He's angry because he probably thinks he stands a better chance than me anyway. He always did think like that, in spite of me being more enduring, faster, stealthier. I could always catch more fish, and they could never see me coming. He was always the clumsy one, even more so because he was bigger than me. This is all the utter truth, but he won't admit it, and he's angry. And I get it.

We have to pose for pictures at the door of the train, which is something I'm as used to doing as breathing. Trent isn't, and I can tell he can hardly wait to get on the train. When the door is finally closed behind us, his shoulders hunch as though in relief. 

I can tell Trent is also stunned and astonished by the luxury of the tribute train. I'm used to the fancy furniture and ridiculous amounts of delicious foods, but he's struggling to take it all in. The fact that we all have separate bedrooms and closets and bathrooms on this train seems to wow him further, as much as he'd hate to admit it. He always used to spit on materialism and the Capitol's greed.

I want to talk to him, but I dare not push it. I figure he'll come talk to me when he's ready. So I go take a shower and put myself in something comfortable and lie on the bed, hoping to drift off into a nap. It's hopeless, of course. Amelia soon comes to summon us for dinner.

The food is delicious but the atmosphere at the table is beyond uncomfortable. Amelia keeps trying to strike up conversation but it keeps failing because neither Trent, Finnick or I feel like chatting. Eventually, she shuts up, defeated.

Then we go watch the recap of the Reapings in other districts. I guess it's smart to see what we'll have to be dealing with right away. Some stand out to me. Careers from the first districts of course. And the boy from District 3. I can never handle watching a twelve year old kid. I cannot imagine having to kill him, but I assume he'll get killed by someone else anyway.

Watching the short recap of our own Reaping just makes me realize how much of a show we'd put on. The commentators keep making witty comments. Which could all be good for us. If we're already catching the viewers' attention, that's good. Everyone's going to want to see the siblings struggle until the end.

Amelia makes a comment about how pretty I looked and how handsome Finnick was, leaving Trent out because there was nothing to compliment according to her. He was sulking, and that's never in Amelia Cattermole's good books. We all keep almost completely silent through the recap too. Amelia is displeased by it, but apparently - nothing can kill her constant bubbly happiness. She's still grinning like a fool.

Then I go straight to bed and decide that if I'm going to cry it out, now would be the right time. We'd be in the Capitol in the morning already, so I'd have to do it now. Nothing comes out, however. 

And just as I expected, Trent seeks me out. He's on my door and ready to talk to me.

''You never knew how to knock,'' I say.

He shrugs and enters. ''Your room is even nicer than mine.''

''Well, I _am_ the Marinelle.''

He scoffs. ''Yeah, I keep forgetting that.''

I pat the place on the bed next to me, and he obeys, climbing and lying down. I put my head on his chest and I can hear his heart beating. I'd keep that heart beating no matter what, I think to myself.

''If there's one thing good about all this it's that we actually get to spend time together,'' I say. It's the truth - I haven't been able to do anything like this with him in years - but it's hardly a silver lining.

''I'd rather have you safely out of the Games.''

''I'm not going to apologize. I'm not sorry,'' I say.

''I know,'' he says.

''So you might as well start dealing with it right now. You can't be all sulky all the time. The Games have started, Trent, and you're constantly being watched. You're supposed to start winning sponsors over already.''

''If you're asking me to start kissing asses, I don't think I can.''

''Don't be stupid! This is life and death, Trent. Making people like you could be what'll keep you alive.''

He doesn't say anything to that. He knows I'm right, but I know how proud he is.

We talk some more but soon we fall silent and his breathing slows and he falls asleep next to me, but I can't, no matter how hard I try. Which I know I'm going to regret tomorrow, but with special pills and enhanced coffee, I could survive. And I do try, but with all the tossing and turning, the only thing I could manage is waking up Trent. So I cautiously walk out into the living room department, hoping to watch some TV or something to keep my mind off things. It's Finnick I find there, doing exactly that. He can't seem to find peace though. He looks restless, switching channels seemingly at the speed of light.

''Can't sleep?'' I ask.

He shakes his head. ''You should, though. Tough day tomorrow.''

''I know. But I can't help it,'' I say, seating myself next to him on the luxurious velvet couch. He opens his arm for me, and I lay my head down in the crook of his neck. ''What are we watching?''

''You tell me,'' he says, changing the channel once again, ''Everything's about the Games.''

''Wait,'' I stop him from changing the channel again, ''Leave it.''

One of Ceasar Flickerman's many shows is on. He's sitting in a small pink-ish studio and on the big screen next to him is a picture of a Career girl from District 2. I didn't catch her name, but she looks beyond confident, smiling with a fierce glint in her eyes, and I'm not blind not to see she's very pretty too. Her blonde hair looks as shiny and healthy as any of the Capitol girls', and the beauty butchers haven't even gotten to her yet. The picture then turns into a video from the Reaping, where she's seen walking across the stage proudly with her head held high and smiling and waving to the people, and Caesar is talking about how she's already picking favors among the viewers. She looks really fit, and no doubt capable, having trained at the Academy. And if everyone's eyes are already on her, that means she might be my biggest threat.

''Bets have started early this year,'' Caesar grins, ''And it seems our lovely Alexis is taking them all.''

So Alexis is her name, I make sure to remember. I'd have to learn all of their names soon anyway. The more I watch, the more I realize the show is some sort of a recap based on the opinions of the public culminated during the day. It's about what kind of first impressions we've left on the viewers. There's a little bit about everyone, but Caesar talks about some particular Tributes for a long while. I try to pay attention - those most talked about are definitely our biggest threat.

The boy from District 2 looks tough as well. Also a Career, Blaze looks like he could snap me in two if he had the chance. Trent's no match for him either. Blaze is tall and broadly built and looks like he could turn a rock into dust by smashing it with his fist. It's no wonder either, they deal with stone-work in District 2 all of their lives. And they feed them well. Very well.

Caesar apparently wasn't going by the order of the Districts, because he leaves our district for last. Sudden nervousness hits my system, and I'm anxious to hear what he has to say.

''This year, for the 69th Annual Hunger Games we have had quite a shocker already,'' he says in his most suspense-giving voice looking right at the camera, ''I have saved the best for last, eh? Heheheheheh,'' he laughs his signature showman laughter, ''We all know who she is, we've all been in love with her for a few years now, but we never, ever, could have seen this coming. Marinelle Harlaw - _the_ Marinelle Harlaw - has this year decided to volunteer as Tribute. We were all beyond shocked - I'm still having mixed feelings about it, if I may say,'' he mock-whispers to the camera and giggles, ''But it's safe to say she's given us quite a show before the show's even started. Let's watch the full recap!''

And then the whole scene is played. Calling out Molly Wellwood, then Trent, then me interfering and volunteering, everyone getting upset, Finnick restraining Trent, me putting on a perfect smile again and saying what the Capitol wants to hear. Somehow, the cameras manage to catch Molly being welcomed back and hugged by her friends. Then it's back to Caesar.

''Whew!'' he fans himself, ''Marinelle, Marinelle, Marinelle. She. is. a heartthrob. That was very emotional. Very emotional indeed. We've seen people volunteer before, but never like this. Never! Since the day of the Reaping she has consistently been the number one most talked about Tribute on every single network. Every single one! Opinions are various, however. Some deem it unfair, because of her already established status and popularity, and some, on the other hand, seem to think that could only aid her so much. Some are already betting on her skills, and some don't quite believe in Capitol's favored princess. Either way, with how fiercely she stood up for her brother, I would count on her having a few surprises up her sleeve just yet,'' he smiles into the camera.

 _Number one most talked about Tribute on every single network._ That's all that rings in my head. That's good. That has to be good. As long as I'm talked about, as long as I'm interesting, as long as I have my 'fans' on the edge of their seats, we will have sponsors.

Caesar doesn't talk about Trent much. He seems to be one of the uninteresting Tributes this season, and that worries me.

I mentally re-count whom I have to really watch out for. Hale and Ruby from District 1, Careers. Alexis and Blaze from District 2, Careers. Barker, the boy from District 7. He's Trent's age but looks much stronger. They seem like primary threats. And then I can't get the District 3 boy out of my head. There's always a kid, it seems. I cannot remember a year without at least one. He's the youngest, and thankfully the only twelve-year-old this season. His name is Gadge and he wears glasses. He couldn't look more of a weakling.

I sigh heavily. Finnick seems deep in thought, but the show's ended already and they're playing some dumb pop music right now.

''Same as always,'' I say, ''Watch out for the Careers.''

''Watch out for everyone,'' he says, his fist under his chin, and a scowl on his face.

''People talk about me a lot, apparently.''

''That could be as bad as it is good.''

''I know.''

''I don't want you to die,'' he says. That startles me a bit. I didn't expect this conversation to go down that road. I lift my head up to look at him.

''I won't be the Victor.''

''You're all I have in the Capitol. Look, I know that's selfish, but- The way you want to protect Trent, I want to protect you.''

''Finnick, I had to do this. You know I had to.''

''These are the Hunger Games. There's a million ways you could die. What if you both die, huh? And it's all for nothing.''

''He won't die,'' I insist, and I can feel myself getting angry.

''Hate me all you want, but you don't know that. You can't know that! You can't know anything! They could throw you in a desert!''

''Finnick, there's no point to this conversation.''

''There is a point,'' he puts both his hands on the sides of my face and looks me right in the eye, as though trying to convince me, make me understand, ''You think you know things. You're counting on things. You have expectations. You will get disappointed. Be ready for everything. Be alert at all times.''

''I have no expectations-''

''You do. You're counting on outliving everyone. You cannot count on that. You can fight for it, with an empty mind. And try to last as long as you can. Because nothing is guaranteed. Nothing.''

''I know,'' it pains me to say, ''I am aware of my chances,'' I pry his hands away, ''So forgive me for trying to believe in myself.''

''I never said not to believe in yourself-''

''What are you trying to do?''

''Let me finish-''

''I don't know what you want me to say-''

''Hey!'' he raises his voice so we stop arguing at the same time, ''I'm not your enemy. I only mean the best for you.'' He's the one who looks angry now.

''Forget about what's best for me! Start dealing with the fact that I'm not getting out of this alive, and willingly!''

''That is not fair.''

''Fair or not, it's the way it is,'' I start walking away, but he pulls me back by my arm, and I bump into him, now standing tall and towering over me.

''I'm not talking about the Games,'' he says, ''I'm talking about you. You're not fair. There are people who care about you.''

''I'm not sorry for what I've done to my family, and if that makes me a terrible person then so be it.''

''I'm not talking about you volunteering either. I'm talking about this. What you're doing right now. Talking about your own death to someone who loves you. Telling them to just start dealing with it. It's not fair.''

''Finnick-''

He doesn't let me finish. His lips are on mine, and he's kissing me; and what's even more odd - I'm kissing him back, and somehow the night starts having a mind of its own, and I no longer control a single step, because the next thing I know - we're in his bed, and my skin is on fire, and I'm both happy and sad, and I want to kiss him entire and cry at the same time.


	8. Chapter 8

When I wake up and find Finnick next to me - still asleep and unfortunately quite beautiful under the sunrays seeping through - I try to decide what I'm feeling. One side of me feels almost sick, and it's telling me that oh no, we shouldn't have done that and this should never have happened and oh we have ruined everything and made things a million times more complicated than they already are. The other side of me thinks that oh well if I'm going to die soon I might as well use this time and live a little. 

How real are Finnick's feelings? Were we just overwhelmed in the moment? We care for each other, sure, but is it really like this? Whatever the answers to those questions, it doesn't really matter. And Finnick will soon find a nice girl for himself when I'm gone anyway. Somehow, I am as sure of it as of the fact that I am Marinelle Harlaw. Finnick will be just fine. Finnick will one day be happy.

I get out of bed carefully without waking him, put on my clothes, and sneak my way back into my bedroom. I try not to feel bad about last night as I make myself presentable and go have some breakfast. It's Amelia that shoves a cup of very strong coffee into my hands the moment I enter the living-room compartment. I'm going to need it, she says. And I know she means it too.

The breakfast is almost as dull as the dinner was the day before, if you do not count Trent looking at me weirdly and even more so once Finnick joins us and sits down to eat. No need to make this weird, I think to myself. Trent wouldn't dare say anything to make things weird.

Thankfully, Trent says nothing inappropriate and in the end settles to eat in peace. Amelia is telling us things - supposedly important - but I don't think anyone's really listening to her now. The closer we are to the Capitol, the more that feeling of dread is settling into our bones. We don't have to say it to know it. This is real. It's coming.

Trent seems to be really enjoying his breakfast - and he would since there is no fish and products of the sea. Food in District 4 is based on everything that comes from water. Me and Finnick have spent enough time in the Capitol to get used to anything you could call food. Trent, on the other hand, is all but licking his fingers.

''Try to maybe make friends today,'' Finnick says. He's in his mentor mode, but all Trent and I can do is just look at him. Friends?

He nods and continues. ''Yes, I know how that sounds. But you need to test the grounds. Talk to people. Consider allies.''

''I thought Careers,'' I say uncertainly, which earns me a startled look even from Amelia, ''I know it's a risk but they always stick it out until the end anyway. We'd be protected with them. When the time comes for the alliance to break, I'm positive we can lose them. Then we'll think of what next.''

''You sure about that?''

''Of course not. But it's a good shot. We're from District 4. We're no Careers, but our district has provided Careers for years. We're capable. They know District 4 has only had capable Tributes.''

''Alright,'' Finnick nods, ''But there's still time to think that through.''

I look at him and I wish last night wasn't so damn beautiful. I think how I'll probably have to talk to him about what happened too, and soon.

''We'll discuss it more,'' Trent says. I realize I haven't talked to him about it yet.

''If you're going to play the Career game,'' Amelia starts charmingly, with an ever-lasting smile, and sounds almost reluctant to speak, ''You will have to play confident. And I'm talking about you, young man.''

''What about me?'' Trent asks.

''She's right,'' I say, ''You constantly look either moody, or sulky, or angry, or plain bored. Look confident. Smile. You need to win people over.''

''Most important survival tip right there,'' Finnick confirms.

''I'll... keep that in mind,'' Trent grumbles.

''As for weapons,'' Finnick starts, ''What are you good with, Trent?''

''Machetes,'' he replies instantly, ''I'm good with machetes.''

And he is. Back home, he used to be in charge of keeping the backyard in order when the growth got too wild around the house. Our house being in the green before the beach, the yard demanded a lot of maintainance. Trent could really swing that thing.

''Tridents,'' I say, ''We've used those a million times. And we know how to work nets. Could be useful. For traps and stuff.''

''Good,'' Finnick nods.

''I can use daggers,'' I suggest, ''Back home I did a lot of gutting when the catch was brought in. So I guess I'm handy with those. And I can get by with a bow. I've used it before. I don't think I'm too good but it brought the birds to the table. I can practice.''

''Well, wonderful!'' Amelia claps before Finnick can say anything in approval, ''District 4 provides quality Tributes yet again!''

Quality youth sent out to die. I do my best not to hate Amelia Cattermole and ignore her remark. And she started so well with her piece of advice.

''Now we have a starting point,'' Finnick says, and then his tone subtly changes, ''We'll be in the Capitol soon.''

None of us want to be in the Capitol soon, except maybe Amelia.

''In a matter of minutes, actually,'' she intercepts.

''So we'll take one thing at a time,'' Finnick finishes. He looks afraid again. Trent and I only nod in agreement. This isn't going to be pretty, I realize - the mess doesn't start in the Arena. 

Soon enough, we're going through the tunnels and entering Capitol grounds. Everything I see through the mirror is familiar, and I haven't missed it. Trent has never been much of a Capitol fan, but he still cannot take his eyes off what he's seeing. And I don't blame him. He's only ever seen the Capitol on TV, and the cameras don't do its grandeur justice.

The moment people realize a Tribute train is coming in, they start pointing toward us excitedly and hurrying to take a glimpse of us. I do it almost instinctively - I smile and wave to them and even send a few kisses. Trent is still staring like a baboon, so I nudge him in the ribs. For a moment he looks at me in question, but then he picks up the message. Looking like he hates it, at least to me - he starts waving and even smiling. It's better than nothing, and I silently hope it's working in some way.

''When the stylists get to you, don't resist. Whatever they do,'' I warn Trent. I'm already used to what comes next, but he definitely isn't.

''You mean the beauty butchers,'' he grins. That's what I always call them.

''Yeah. Things might hurt. I don't know what they do to the guys though,'' I shrug, ''Just behave, and obey, and either keep your mouth shut or be kind to everyone.''

''Duly noted, sister,'' he greets me the way Peacekeepers greet each other, mocking the way they carry themselves.

''Yeah, that's exactly the stuff you shouldn't do,'' I can't help but grin. He's a silly guy, but I don't think him being a jokester could pass with the public. They wouldn't like his jokes, since they all concern the Capitol and its residents.

I don't spend much time with the cosmeticians since I'm very well maintained anyway, but I can't stop thinking about how Trent is dealing with all this. I wonder if I could have my own stylist team, or is it a rule that we're all assigned a stylist as Tributes? Either way, I'm yet to meet them, as two women are rubbing some sort of shiny lotion into my skin. This one I haven't used before and I'm sure it's top notch. That thought makes me realize just how ridiculous this entire process is. So what if it's top notch? You're sending me to die!

One of the girls hyperventilates when she realizes whose face she's meant to be dealing with. She goes on about how much of a fan she is and how much of an honor it is and how she knows all of my songs and dances and will do her very best to make my skin glow as healthily and beautifully as ever. I thank her, I smile, I'm polite, but I just want her to be done with me. By the end of it, I'm complimented on my skin and eyes and even eyebrows! Apparently, my natural-looking eyebrows are very refreshing. That's because they're not pink, I think to myself, but I don't say anything. I'm supposed to love the Capitol and everything about it, and I'm not to forget that.

The entire beauty butchers team isn't that dull after all, and the time passes quickly. ''Now you're ready for your stylist!'' the fan girl whose name I've forgotten finally announces. Suddenly I think about the beautiful dress I wore for my birthday party which seems so long ago now, and a part of me hopes I'll somehow get to be styled by that designer. Cinna, was it? Whoever he is, he's really talented.

But my stylist is a female. I'm thrown aback by how normal she looks - no crazy colors and textures and ridiculously high heels and ridiculous-looking hair. Oh, she's fashionable - her clothes are undeniably expensive and pretty - but it's all very subtle for the Capitol. She's wearing a loose, pretty, baby pink blouse with a pastel floral print across her shoulders, and white pants. Her heels aren't too high and they're a beige color. It looks like something I would wear. As for jewelry, she's only wearing earrings with pink gem stones. Her make-up is pretty and subtle too - eyeliner that's barely glittery and a pink lipstick that's barely standing out from her skin. Her blonde hair is in a simple bun, nothing elaborate, and there's only one highlight of pink color. It looks like it's all her natural hair too. And suddenly, I feel a surge of hope. I may be in very good hands. And this part of the Games is very important.

''Hello, Marinelle,'' she welcomes me, and I can barely hear the ridiculous Capitol accent, ''I hope you don't mind I insisted they don't do your hair and make-up yet. I thought it would be best they do that once we've picked a dress.''

''Oh, uh-, no, it's fine,'' I say.

''My name is Hellena,'' she smiles, and it looks like a genuine smile of kindness, ''And I'm honored. This is a privilege, to work with a superstar. Not many get the opportunity.''

''Oh, I hardly feel like a superstar,'' I'm surprised by my honesty, ''Especially now.''

''Yes, of course, I can't imagine how you must be feeling,'' she says, and - again - looks honest, ''Well, I will do my best to make the opening night your night.''

''Thank you,'' I say, ''I haven't seen you before.''

I've met a lot of people in the fashion industry, and I definitely knew everyone working on the Games, and they rarely had new faces. I would have surely remembered Hellena if I'd ever encountered her.

''Yes, I just got the job,'' she smiles, ''It's a huge opportunity. It's not easy for young designers to make it in the fashion industry these days. You can hardly compete with already known names and corporations.''

 _It's a huge opportunity._ I try not to hate her for that, especially because she's so nice and seems so genuine. She's just living her life. As horrible as this whole thing is.

''I know,'' I say, for the sake of conversation, ''I was in love with the dress I wore for my birthday and I couldn't believe I'd never heard of the designer before.''

''Oh! That would be Cinna,'' she smiles, with a hint of a blush.

''Yes, I think that's his name?''

''Yes, that gown was lovely. I saw you on TV, you looked as beautiful as ever. And Cinna, well, he was very excited that his dress got to be worn by you. If that doesn't launch his career, nothing will.''

''Oh, he's very talented. Is he a friend of yours?''

''Boyfriend,'' she subtly blushes, ''Well, he was a friend at the time of your birthday party.''

''Ah, congratulations, I guess I should say,'' I smile. Determined to charm my way into the Games.

''Thank you,'' she says with a smile right back, still sizing up my now bare body and considering measurements. ''You can tuck in while we talk the outfit over,'' she finally says, ''It's a bit chilly in here when you have nothing on.''

So I wrap myself in a robe and we proceed to the wardrobe that has more gowns in there than I can count, and she starts giving me her ideas, and telling me about how she talked to Trent's stylist Ajax - I've heard about him and seen his work so I'm sure Trent is in good hands too - and she wanted to work with him and put us in costumes together, make us look complementary. It's always best that way, she says, it always looks best - it's always aesthetically terrible when the Tributes are coupled but look completely different. I agree with that, and she starts throwing suggestions at me. I agree with some things and disagree with some. I try not to make too many demands but I also dare not leave this in their hands completely - again I remind myself that this part of the Games is very important. We have to make an impression, and a good one.

''Just don't make me a mermaid,'' I say finally, ''I know we have to reflect our district in some way, but enough with the fish.''

''Of course!'' she chuckles, ''Do I look like I would do that to you?''

''You don't,'' I say honestly and can't help smiling.

''Good,'' she smiles, ''I have one more trick up my sleeve. A technique Cinna taught me, actually. Rather than dressing you as a water creature, I was thinking we focus on the water itself.''

''I can't exactly wear the sea.''

''But I have something very close to it.''

Soon enough, I can see it myself. And I almost fall right on my butt when I do. I'm dressed in an aquamarine dress that seems to shimmer and change shades of color depending on the light. It literally looks like the sea, the way it changes color depending on the depth and the sun. The dress does the same. It's very simply cut - the upper part is like a corset except that it's not really a hard, constructed corset; it just starts from above my breasts, cups them in a way that is still classy, I make sure to note, and it just follows my figure. The lower part just starts spreading from hips below into beautiful waves. I look literally like a princess. Some leg is showing up front too, up to my knees, when the waves allow it. The dress actually ebbs and flows.

I am too stunned to stop looking at myself in the mirror. I've never seen anything like it. I don't even realize I'm not saying anything, but Hellena chuckles at my blatant display of amazement.

''I am glad you like it.''

''Like it? I am blown away.''

''We must find you shoes and send you back to hair and make-up,'' she says, ''I'll be in there the whole time to make sure they're doing everything right.''

She finds me a pair of silvery sandals and then I'm put back into the beauty butcher chair, my blonde hair being sprayed with something shimmery and turned into gentle waves. The make-up is all turquoise or aquamarine as far as lining my eyes goes, which makes them stand out even more because my natural eye-color is blue-green. That's one of the things I really like about myself, so I'm happy when I don't get contacts shoved up my face. The make-up is subtle but I can't remember the last time I looked so pretty. The hair is much the same - nothing elaborate, but let down my back in waves, split on the right side; hair tucked behind my ear on the right and flowing in waves next to the left side of my face. As final touches I get turquoise gemstones for earrings and actual body make-up up my forearms. It's ocean waves starting up my palms and reaching halfway to my elbows. If anyone were to tell me they'd draw these on my hands, I would have probably laughed. But it looks beautiful. This is the type of thing you can only understand once you see it. 

And I'm feeling confident. I've basically done this a hundred times before, and I look amazing.

''Thank you,'' is all I can say when we're all done. And I mean it. I'm feeling genuinely grateful for all the effort this woman has put in making this dress, and I have a gut feeling that she genuinely wishes me well, and not just her own promotion. That thought is comforting, and gives me some odd kind of surge of strength.

Soon enough Trent comes escorted by Ajax and his entire team, and I'm so happy to see him after so many hours of what must have been torture for him. He looks very handsome in his blue suit, sleeves rolled up to below his elbows which gives it all an especially charming feel and revealing the matching temporary tattoos up his forearms. Everyone else in the room is all excited and basically just congratulating each other on the good work. Helenna accepts compliments with a modest smile that suits her entire persona. I thank them all once again, on both Trent's behalf and mine. Trent gives me a small smile that seems genuine and tells me ''Let's do this. We can do this.'' Or maybe I just want it to mean that.

We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, as the opening ceremonies are about to start. It's time for the chariots, and I find that our chariot is dark blue and the horses white to perfect the look. We enter the chariots and try to make a perfect pose for the ride, but our teams end up arranging our body positions themselves, all the while consulting each other while Trent and I stand there like mannequins. I'm perfectly sure I could handle this without their help, again - I've greeted the public so many times, but they seem to have a particular vision of what we should look like so we just obey.

''You always look beautiful, sis, but they've outdone themselves this time,'' Trent whispers to me as we stand ready, nervousness gnawing at my stomach.

''You look quite good yourself. Hardly a district fisherman,'' I tease through gritted teeth, hoping he won't be able to see how nervous I actually am. I'm supposed to be the one comfortable in all this glamour if nothing else. If he finds out I'm nervous, I might just lose him.

''Isn't Finnick supposed to be here too?'' he asks.

He's probably right. I think how he's probably already working on promoting us and pulling out his connections. I feel grateful and terribly bad at the same time.

''I don't know,'' I say, and Trent doesn't press the issue.

The opening music begins, absolutely blasting through the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets and we ride out, maintaining our body positions and perfect smiles, waving to the people and holding hands. 

Our fingers interlaced create an even bigger picture, our tattoos being two parts of a larger one, so at one point I remember what Ajax and Helenna told us and raise our interlaced hands in the air, and the crowd cheers even louder for us. In the corner of my eye I can see that Trent is nervous because I know him so well. But he's trying so hard and doing such a good job that no one else could ever notice, and I feel so proud.

The crowd is cheering for us. I hear cheers for us particularly, and it gives me a new dose of confidence. Of course, the minds of the people are fickle and inconsistent, and what fans we have now we could lose in a day. But I still feel good. I hold on to Trent's hand even tighter. I don't care how powerful the Tributes from District 1 and 2 look. We're standing out, and representing our district perfectly. I can see flowers falling onto the street ahead of us, and I dare to think some of those are for us. Careers are bet on because of their skills, but they're rarely favored and they rarely win the hearts of the viewers as people.

I hear people scream ''Marinelle!'' and I know those are the ones who were my fans before all this and would have supported me in this no matter what, though most of their support would be nothing but moral. It's the rich that provide the goodies.

The ride lasts about twenty minutes and twelve chariots end up at the City Circle. The buildings here provide homes for the richest and most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Only those close to president Snow could ever hope to live here, I always assumed. I can see a glint in Trent's eyes that says how amazed he is by all of this, despite it all. Our horses stop their trot right in front of president Snow's majestic mansion as the anthem comes to a halt. Suddenly I think about the small hut by the sea where the Finnegans live, the poorest family in our district. All of a sudden I find myself wanting to set the mansion on fire with Coriolanus Snow in it. I remind myself to keep the angelic smile.

The president comes out, greets us as is tradition, and I am so not involved in what he is saying I can barely catch a few words. My eyes keep landing on the big screen where they show each tribute in turn, and I realize we get a fair share of air time. That's good. Smile. You look beautiful, just smile. I squeeze Trent's hand tighter.

We parade around the circle one last time before we finally enter the Training Center, which will be our home until the Games officially begin. The moment our feet touch actual ground, we're being pulled here and there by our prep teams and congratulated and it all sounds like a mumbling mess or bees buzzing around me because I can't focus on anything they're saying. My heart is still trying to resume its normal pace even though the ride is over. I look around and see that some tributes are giving us discreet looks of admiration, some are shooting us dirty looks, and some are paying no one any attention whatsoever. The Careers from District 1 look like they don't care, but the Careers from District 2 give me a hostile feel right away. I try not to assign it any meaning or think about it. We were dazzling in there, and probably outshone them. My presence itself was bound to outshine most, for the mere fact of who I am. I remember the divided opinions of the public. I remember how a lot of people deem my competing unfair. It's not a helpful thought.

All I can think about is how the hell am I supposed to make any real allies today?


	9. Chapter 9

The Training Center has en entire tower for tributes, a floor for each district. Home until the Games start, that would be. It doesn't look much different than the apartment building I live in, but Trent has never been inside anything furnished this fashionably. Amelia escorts us to our apartments - we have separate ones, unnecessarily - and I realize that Amelia won't be leaving us until we actually enter the Arena. She's blabbing about the interior design and how it's been refurnished for this year and how fabulous our living quarters are. She again tells us how proud she is of us for that entrance we made. I can hardly keep up with her to actually engage in any real conversation.

''Where's Finnick? I haven't seen him all day.''

''Already working hard to get you good sponsors, dear,'' she chirps with a smile, ''I don't think any mentor goes the lengths he does. He is such an angel! He really cares.''

He really cares, Amelia says. I know he does. I try not to think about the things he might have to do to win someone's sponsorship. The thought of it makes me sick to my stomach and induces instant tears.

''I've been doing some talking myself,'' she says proudly, ''Of course, I can't seal any sponsorship deals for you, only Finnick can do that, but if I can win someone over for you, then it's job almost done. Unfortunately, I am not aware of your strategy, Finnick won't say a thing about what he's planning with you two, so I could only do so much. Your popularity is winning hearts on its own, my dear Marinelle, and your brother-sister bond seems to be doing the trick as well. There's still time.''

I can only nod to all of this.

The apartment is more luxurious than my own. It all looks brand new, and the gadgets around the place are so hi-tech I'm pretty sure they haven't yet hit the market. The shower is far more hi-tech than my own, with the most recent upgrades that give you about a hundred different options in terms of both body and hair care. For a moment it impresses me, but then I think about pigs awaiting slaughter. You have to keep them fed and happy if you want the goodies out of them. Then the hi-tech shower disgusts me. I go back to the living room where Amelia is still talking to Trent.

''Dinner will be in an hour, in Trent's quarters,'' Amelia announces joyfully, ''Freshen up! You've earned a feast.''

Then she clocks away on her sky high heels, and Trent just shrugs at me. ''I'm not cooking, so,'' he says.

And then, surprisingly, I start laughing, and he joins me, and it's all comforting enough to get me to go change and wash away pounds of make-up.

When I get to Trent's apartment down the hall, everyone's already at the table - Trent, Ajax, Helenna, Amelia and Finnick. I'm glad to see our stylists, since they seem decent enough people. Somehow, company is comforting right now.

Helenna and Ajax are engaged in a lively conversation with Amelia, probably concerning fashion, whereas on the other side of the table Finnick is talking to Trent, their expressions very serious. Actually, Finnick is talking and Trent listening, nodding his head and intercepting with short questions. They're probably already discussing survival. They don't notice me until I approach the table, just as an Avox is bringing a dish of something new.

''Marinelle!'' Amelia exclaims, ''There's our superstar! Have a seat, dear.''

''I haven't realized how much I'm starving until this very moment,'' I say honestly, inhaling the various smells that make my stomach growl.

''It's no wonder, sweetie,'' Helenna smiles.

''Finnick was just telling me about basic survival, just stuff you can apply in any Arena,'' Trent says.

''Oh really? Wanna fill me in?''

Finnick looks at me - looks straight into my eyes - and for some reason my heart literally skips a beat. It's like an arrow right into my chest, and an electrifying one, as cheesy and ridiculous as it sounds. I can't help remembering that night. And realizing we're pretending it never happened.

''We haven't gone through much,'' he says, corners of his lips twitching in what could have been a smile, but he's too tired for that.

''Finnick Odair,'' Amelia all but demands, ''I would have my tributes eat first, if you don't mind. Or they'll starve before the Games even begin.''

For a moment I'm trying to decipher the true meaning behind that sentence. Was that actual affection or just professional worry? Like it matters.

Finnick raises his hands in the air, as though defensively. ''Whatever you say, Miss Cattermole,'' he smiles politely.

I agree. Whatever it is, it definitely can wait until I've eaten.

The stylists and Amelia seem to be engaged in civilized small talk during the entire process of eating, whereas the three of us don't say another word until we're all full and done. The couple of interchanging Avoxes seem to be in charge of keeping our plates full no matter what. I remember my diet, which I was legally bound to back before all this. Now that's definitely out the window. I could eat anything, it occurs to me. Maybe it'd be good to gain a bit of weight? I'll surely lose some in the arena, so I might as well make reserves. With that thought, I grab a muffin large enough for two people. Dessert high in energy sounds perfect.

The conversation has suddenly or not so suddenly come to interview costumes, which grabs both Trent's and my attention. However, they start brainstorming ideas at such a pace that they lose both of us all too soon. I'm too full and too tired to keep my attention focused on that. I'll think about it when time comes.

Once we've all finished eating, we move to the living room to watch the broadcast of the opening of the Games. I'm curious to see what we looked like from third person's point of view, and to see the big picture. And it turns out we really did outshine almost everyone. The only couple that could really hold a candle to us was the District 1 couple of tributes, and that's probably why they didn't even spare us a glance. They knew they owned the place. And by the looks of it and by the reaction of the public, I'm not sure who was more loved. They definitely gleamed the brightest, but I still tell myself that I'm Marinelle, and they know me, and they love me. I still hope it matters who I am, who I was.

''The hand holding was just beautiful,'' Helenna says.

''The body art was my idea,'' Ajax brags.

''Yes, yes, we know,'' Helenna chuckles.

Our hands look like the waves are flowing from one into the other. It could almost be symbolic, if you wanted to look at it that way. We're in this together. We're one. 

It suddenly occurs to me that certain folks at the Capitol might not like that. We're supposed to be at each other's throat, not holding hands. But we're not the first brother and sister to enter, it's just that we're the first to enter this way. The other tributes all stand next to each other without acknowledging the other's existence. Except in District 1. They look friendly enough with each other, but somehow still ready to kill each other when time comes. Definitely not holding hands.

When the broadcast is over, the crowd in the apartment slowly dissipates, until Trent and I are finally left with Finnick. It's late enough to go to bed, but it's smarter to stay and start discussions.

I bring three cups of coffee to the small table, not bothering to call on a poor Avox to do it for us. ''Now we can start talking.''

''I don't know if that's smart, you'll need to sleep. First day of training tomorrow,'' Finnick says, referring to the coffee.

''Don't worry, we'll pass out just fine,'' Trent says and I couldn't agree more - there's no coffee in the world that could keep me awake tonight. The day has been too long.

''So,'' I throw myself on the sofa next to Finnick, opposite Trent lounging in a velvet chair, ''What do we need to know first?''

''Stay alive,'' Finnick simply says, ''Which means you have to know how. I'm not talking about killing, or surviving other tributes. That stuff comes tomorrow. I'm talking about basic survival. You don't know what's waiting for you. What do you do if you're thrown in an Arena hip-deep in snow? What happens then?''

''I doubt they'd do that,'' I say.

''You can't know that.''

''I can't know, but I'm pretty sure they want something easy to watch for the viewers. Somehow, a blizzard doesn't exactly fit the picture.''

''Either way, if you can't survive your environment you might as well throw yourself at a Career and wait for a sword to get you.''

''Okay, so, how do we prepare? The Arena could be anything,'' Trent scowls.

''Whatever it is, the first thing you need to do is size it up and get to a place of safety. Security is priority. You avoid the bloodbath and keep your eyes open. Use all of your senses to determine a safe place. And you stay aware. You don't relax once you find your spot. You keep track of your enemies. Where they are, what they're doing. They might hunt you, or they might leave you for the time being. But you cannot afford to relax and assume. Always be alert and always, _always_ keep every one of your senses sharp.''

''So, avoid the bloodbath and get to know the environment,'' I conclude, ''And stay sharp.''

''Keep track of your enemies,'' Trent adds.

''Not just your enemies,'' Finnick says, ''You have to learn to get in sync with the Arena. To stay sensitive to its sounds and changes. If the animals are running somewhere, they're probably running away from something you should be running away from. But that doesn't mean you're going to recklessly run into someone who wants to kill you. Use your brain, and keep using it in a quick pace constantly.''

''Is that how you survived?'' I ask.

''It's a huge part of it.''

''But we need a strategy,'' Trent says, ''What do we do, do we just wait them out? I mean, we can't guarantee that we'll survive in the environment that long. We might die of hunger by the time finale comes. How can we count on constant income of food? Or water for that matter?''

''What, do you wanna fight? Have a go in the bloodbath?'' I ask, feeling anger taking over me.

''I didn't say anything about the bloodbath,'' Trent argues, ''All I'm saying is we can't just wait until everyone kills each other and then come out of our hiding. No one can guarantee we can last that long.''

''I plan to stay clear of the Careers once they turn on each other,'' I insist, ''Did you see that dude Blaze from District 2? I am no force to be reckoned with. Do you think you and me can take him, Trent? Just him?''

''I-,'' he stutters.

''Are you determined to make an alliance with the Careers?'' Finnick asks.

''I mean, I don't know. I don't know yet. It seems logical, but I know it's dangerous. District 2 tributes look at us like they want us dead already, and we haven't even started training yet.''

''Test the grounds tomorrow,'' Finnick advises, ''You'll all be in the Training Center together. You be careful with everyone, but definitely give everyone a shot. Careers may have the muscle, but sometimes it's the brains that save your life.''

''If we make an alliance with the Careers, that means we have to stay for the bloodbath,'' Trent concludes.

''It doesn't. We can just get lost, anyone can get separated. Find them later,'' I say.

''Yeah, what about supplies?'' Trent asks, ''Do we rely on our allies to share with us? We run from the bloodbath empty-handed, we might run into our own deaths.''

''No, you run from the bloodbath, you hear me?'' Finnick insists, ''You'll get your hands on something, they can't carry everything out of the Cornucopia, but you have to stay alive for that!''

''Finnick's right,'' I nod, ''First thing we do, we run away. And we don't lose sight of each other.''

''Good,'' Finnick says, though Trent doesn't look too convinced, ''You do exactly that. You find shelter. You size up your situation. And you do not move unless you've thought it through. Plan every bit of action in detail. You can't afford recklessness.''

''Got it.''

''And just one more thing,'' he says, ''Probably most important thing - no fear. No shocks and reactions to trauma. It can do nothing but cripple you. You'll see terrible things in that Arena, but you have to stay present. You have to stay aware and clearheaded. The moment you step into the Arena, you start your dance with death, so there's really no point in fearing it. The mental fight counts. Don't lose it. No matter what happens, no matter the horrors you see, do not lose it.''

''Don't go insane,'' Trent nods, ''Fair piece of advice.''

''You may not have considered that side of the Games, Trent, but I assure you it's nothing to make light of,'' Finnick says, and I don't think I've ever seen him like this - he knows what he's talking about and the thought of it is frightening. I never thought much about the aftermath of the Games, but it doesn't really matter for me since I do not plan on being Victor. And I don't think I'll start losing my mind in there either.

''I'm not making light of it,'' Trent says, ''Thank you, man.''

''I'm your mentor,'' Finnick says, ''It's my job.''

''Not just this. For everything,'' Trent says, getting up to leave, and Finnick only nods his head in understanding before he does. I don't think about that exchange, as Trent announces he's going to bed and Finnick and I leave the now spookily empty and silent apartment.

As we walk down the hall, I realize an equally spookily empty and silent apartment is waiting for me, and although I'll probably fall asleep pretty quickly, the thought of the apartment is making a chill settle into my bones. I haven't talked to Finnick about what happened between us yet either, and as we're walking in silence, I realize I have to get that out of the way too.

''Finnick, will you stay with me?''

''Always,'' he says, and I know as I know the color of the ocean that he means it.


	10. Chapter 10

''This place is too big for one person,'' I say, as though to explain myself.

''Yeah, tell me about it. I never liked the size of these things. It's like you could place two district families to live in here, and they'd be comfortable too.''

''I know. That's the Capitol way. Throw away food, money, space or time, it's whatever,'' I complain, throwing my jacket off of me, releasing my hair from the bun, all in one go.

''Are you afraid?'' he suddenly asks me, and it's the one direction I didn't expect this conversation to be headed. I freeze for a moment as I'm trying to pull out pajamas from the drawer. ''I was,'' he continues, standing behind me as though waiting, ''You act like you're not afraid, but you don't have to pretend with me. Not with me. You know that.''

''I know,'' I turn around to face him, ''I know that very well,'' and the thought of it - of really having a friend here - makes me smile, ''But saying it out loud makes it real, and I don't need that. If I say I'm afraid, then the fear will grow in strength. You said it yourself. Fear can only cripple me.''

''In the Arena, yes,'' he says, clasping my shoulder, ''If you need to get things out of your system, now would be the time, and I would be the person. You have to enter that Arena a clean slate and an empty mind.''

All of a sudden I feel such a strong urge to hug him that I cannot resist throwing myself at him and holding on for dear life. It stuns him for a moment, but then I feel his arms envelope me and it's the most comforting thing in the world. I let myself be deceived; I let myself feel safe for a while.

''It's gonna be a tough day tomorrow,'' he says, still holding me, resting his chin against my head, ''It's a battlefield of a sort. As much as you have to make an impression on the people who watch, you have to know what kind of impression to make on the other tributes.''

''They'll be intent on killing me either way,'' I shrug off as I finally pull away and go change.

''It's not either way!'' I can hear his voice from the living room, ''Do you want them to like you? Hate you? Fear you? Think you no threat? You better decide.''

''Fear sounds like the best option,'' I say when I get back, tossing him a shirt and pajama shorts. I'm clearly not taking this as seriously as Finnick thinks I should, and he sees it.

''We'll talk about it at breakfast tomorrow. Trent needs to hear it too, though you'll see what I'm talking about once you're there anyway. We have to figure out how you want to present yourselves there,'' he says, going on to change as well.

With some chit chat along the way, we're finally in bed, and when he lets me snuggle against him for comfort the way he always does, I suddenly feel an odd sort of guilt and an obligation to start the conversation about what happened between the two of us. Pretending that none of it happened would be a fine option if we'd agreed on it. But we haven't expressed our sentiments about it at all, and if I'm going to die in that Arena, I don't want to leave a mess and unfinished business behind me. I will go in there a clean slate, as he said.

''Finnick,'' I start, and suddenly I don't know how to phrase it, so I'm surprised when words just come out of my mouth, ''We should talk. About that night on the train.''

I don't look at him, but I can feel him shift a little. Was that him being uncomfortable? Was sweeping it all under the carpet the better option? No, I can't second-guess this. It has to be done. I don't want it to change us, for the little time we have.

''Yeah, we probably should.''

''What was that? I mean, do we... do you...''

''I don't know,'' he says, which I admit to myself I did not expect, ''I... it was beautiful. It really was. For me, at least.''

''For me too,'' I quickly add - I'd never want him to think otherwise.

''And it was all just... spontaneous,'' he says.

''I know. Spur of the moment.''

''But I do love you,'' he looks at me, ''I do, and I know you love me; we're best friends, are we not? We do love each other.''

''Finnick, you know I'd kill for you,'' I roll my eyes playfully, and he smiles.

''I know, and I'd kill for you, and that's exactly my point. That's love, right?''

''Right. But not that kind of love,'' I conclude.

''Probably. I don't know, Mari. If we... if we lived under different circumstances... If we were free... Maybe we'd be in love. The way you're supposed to fall, you know. The stuff you hear in the stories.''

''The way my parents fell in love,'' I intercept with an example.

''Exactly. They were free - as free as they could be, I mean - more free than us. They never had to endure the things we have to endure now. It's all just... too much.''

''I agree,'' I say, and feel relief that we're on the same page.

''If you didn't have to go be in the Games... If we could all just live somewhere in peace...''

''Who knows,'' I finish his sentence.

''Yeah, who knows.''

He gives me one final smile, kisses my forehead and we wish each other good night before we fall into a slumber.

When I'm awoken by an alarm set up by Amelia, Finnick's not there. I assume he has business to attend to before breakfast. Mentor stuff other than mentoring us. I never asked him about what he does, whom he talks to for sponsors. Just thinking about it too much makes me want to shudder and get the chill out of my bones. It's not easy on him. I know it's not.

Amelia works like a clock. The moment I'm dressed and decently refreshed, she's at my door ushering me for breakfast. The dining room is the common room down the corridor for everyone on the district team. Amelia is talking non-stop as she always is, but all I can hear is my stomach rumbling. 

Everyone's already at the table; I'm the last to pick my breakfast foods and join them. Trent looks well-rested, which gives me relief. Finnick looks a bit drowsy. Amelia seems to be coffee in the form of a person. Everyone's wishing me good morning, and I say it back and place my plate in front of me. And for the first time since we've been here I actually notice that the body-art on my arms hasn't washed away after all those showers. Trent's are still pretty much intact too. I wonder how in the world I haven't paid enough attention to my own body. Having so much on my mind, I guess it should be no wonder.

''How in the world are these still on me,'' I stare at my hands, ''And how am I just now noticing it?''

''Ajax said they can last a couple of months,'' Trent says casually, having a bite of a pancake, ''They should last all through the Games.''

''Why in the world? And why has no one told me?''

Trent shrugs. ''You're weird. Don't you look at yourself when you take a shower?''

''Trent!'' I throw a napkin at him, ''I've been so overwhelmed it's a wonder I haven't drowned in the shower. Besides, they're kind of pale now.''

''They do tend to lighten after first wash,'' Amelia chirps, ''Last summer, I had pink roses painted across my chest? It was so disappointing when they changed color. Never matched any of my outfits.''

I disregard her story. ''Anyway. Now it just looks like pale ink.''

''It looks badass,'' Finnick smiles. And it does, now. Which could be good. Trent nods, still chewing on something.

This idle talk makes me not think about the training for a short while, but it's a short while. I quickly remember what my day is supposed to be, and the nervousness settles into my stomach. I eat, but the more I think, the less I feel like eating. There will be three days in which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, we'll each get a chance to perform in private before the Gamemakers. The thought makes me beyond queasy, but as always I try not to let it show.

''You full?'' Finnick asks Trent more than me - I've been playing with most of the food on my plate for a while.

''Yeah,'' Trent nods and mumbles with a mouth full. The sight of him makes me smile. I'm glad he's not given into the crappy mood.

''Then let's get down to business,'' Finnick announces, ''I assume you'll want to be mentored together. You started as a team-''

''Of course,'' I say immediately. I don't even wait for Trent's reply.

''Good. So what do we have - Trent, machetes? Right?''

''Yeah,'' he says, ''If I had to pick my best skill... yeah.''

''Mari - daggers?''

''Yeah,'' I say, ''But I want to train with a bow too. Or a crossbow. I want a range weapon.''

''Now, there's no guarantee there'll be any of the weapons you want in the Arena, you know that, right? In which case, you go for the next best thing. The thing closest to it.''

''Right.''

''When you have that private session with the Gamemakers, you have to show them what you can do. Show them your best side. ''

''I'm not sure what my best side is,'' I admit.

''You're fast,'' Trent offers, ''And as stealthy as a shadow, you've always been. Even when we were kids. You can jump ridiculous distances too. I remember.''

''I'm not a kid anymore.''

''No, you're stronger and more enduring,'' Finnick argues.

''Still, I don't think there will be any poles to jump and shadows and bushes to show off my stealth.''

''You have three days to figure out what you wanna show them,'' Finnick says, maybe to comfort me, as though three days is much, ''You have time, but use it. Find your thing.''

''Okay. But if we're talking strength, that would be Trent's area. I can barely do a few push-ups. His arms are something.''

''Are you kidding me? Any of the two male Careers could snap me like a twig!''

''That's no way of thinking!''

''And what's your way of thinking? You're strong! There were days when you danced for six hours straight!''

''That's quite something, dear,'' Amelia chimes in, quietly, as though not wanting to interrupt and mind business that's not hers to mind.

''You could endure a desert,'' Trent insists.

What are we doing? Trying to convince each other that we might be as good as the rest? That we stand some sort of chance?

''I need daggers,'' I finally mutter, taking a tiny bite of a croissant. I sound like I'm defeated in an argument, I realize. 

Maybe I am strong. I can hardly lift anything half my weight, but damn it I can go a distance without tiring. I can go a couple of days without sleep. I can walk for a day without rest and tire less than others. I'm aware of this. Admitting it all to myself makes me feel good for just long enough to realize that none of that would matter with an arrow in my chest. 

''What about traps?'' Finnick asks.

''If it's nets, yeah, I can get by with those,'' Trent says, ''But I've only used them for fish, in the water.''

''It can't be much different on dry land?'' I suggest.

''I don't know. Dad taught us to set up a few simple snares, but I never hunted, so I never had any practice. I can't remember most of that stuff.''

''I hunted for bird only,'' I say, ''So don't count me on that either.''

''Alright, here's the deal,'' Finnick says, ''You have three days to learn the things you don't know how to do. Do you understand? Don't do what you're good at. Don't show the others what you're good at. You try to learn what you don't know.''

''But how do I practice with my weapon of choice if I want to get better-''

''You leave that to me,'' Finnick says, reassuringly, ''Just remember what I told you just now.''

''Okay,'' I say, obeying.

''Meet Amelia at ten.''

''By the elevator,'' she adds with a smile and a hint of a warning not to miss the location or time.

We head back to our quarters to freshen up and the time for training comes sooner than I expected. So when I meet Trent and Amelia by the elevator, nervousness kicks back in. I'm determined to ignore it.

The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. With these elevators, the ride is less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. I instantly think about how I could use those obstacles to show off my skills. We're not the last ones to arrive, although it's ten o'clock sharp. District 1 tributes are the ones that arrive last, and they look like they're in no rush at all. They look like they considered skipping this training session because they don't feel threatened by any of us at all. At least that's the sort of cool vibe they're giving off. 

Each tribute has a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their shirts. While someone pins the number 4 on my back, I do a quick assessment. Everyone seems to be by themselves, except tributes from District 3 - that little boy named Gadge is talking with the girl from his district with wires and a piece of glass in their hands - and the Careers from District 1, Hale and Ruby. The two of them aren't exactly working together, but they're in each other's proximity, and communicating, which is more than you can say about anyone else. Blaze, the tough boy from District 2, only gives me a glance, and it's so fleeting I cannot decipher it. He gets back to testing out every weapon he can get his hands on. Alexis, the girl from his district - the one girl most people are already betting on apparently - is already throwing knives with flawless sharpness and discipline at the practice target at the far end of the room. She's so good it almost stops my breathing. Luckily, the head trainer comes in right on time so I don't have to watch any more of that for the time being.

A tall, athletic woman named Atala steps up to the circle we've all formed and begins explain the training schedule. I've heard of Atala, she's been working and would be working on the Games for a while, as she is one of the best athletes in the Capitol. I never worked with her, but a lot of the rich and lazy would sometimes hire her as their personal trainer. She has always been top notch and very expensive.

The rules are pretty simple. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations. We will be free to travel from area to area as we choose, per our mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, others fighting techniques. We are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if we want to practice with a partner. 

As we all stand in a circle I realize this is the first time we're all together in this proximity and the first time I can see them in person this up close. I can't stand looking at Gadge - he looks like the only child here. Everyone else looks like they could devour him as snack. Half of the boys and girls look like they've known hunger for most of their lives, which is no wonder since half of the districts are poorer than I can imagine, but even so everyone looks strong enough to tackle each other, and far stronger than Gadge. District 11 and 12 are by rule the poorest of all, but the boys and girls from respective districts do not look any less capable than me and Trent at all. Maybe it was the opposite, actually. In a way, I've been shielded from certain things they have to endure in their lives. In a way, they've been trained by life in certain areas that could help them now. Maybe I'm the one falling behind and the one that's going to have the most to learn in these three days. But then I think, maybe there's stuff I'm ahead at compared to other tributes too. Maybe none of them are as enduring as I am. Except the Careers, of course. Blaze looks like he could run for a day all the while holding me up in the air.

As I stand there, I realize I can't decide what kind of chance anyone is standing. We're all just about on the same level, except the Careers. The moment Atala is done speaking, they head straight for the deadliest-looking weapons in the gym and handle them with ease. It's almost hypnotizing, luring you to watch, but Trent shakes me out of it.

''Let's mingle,'' he whispers to me. I can see he's headed for the ropes right away. Probably to test knots and maybe figure out a few snares. I realize I'm still frozen in place. 

''Seems like he knows where to start,'' Finnick says, and I never even noticed him approaching. ''What about you?''

What can't I do? I think. What's the first thing I have to learn? And suddenly my feet are moving me on their own toward the District 3 tributes. They're making a fire by using those wires and that piece of glass. I never had to make a fire. Even back home when I had to light a fire I had all the dry wood and dry grass and paper and an actual lighter or matches to start it. Without matches or a lighter, I'd be lost. Dad showed me once, but I never tried myself. There's only Gadge and the girl in this class - apparently, everyone else has already mastered the art of making a fire.

I try not to talk to them too much, especially Gadge. I know what I'm like around nice people, especially kids, and both of them seem nice and friendly. I can't afford friendly. So I ignore them as much as I can and respond to just enough not to seem incredibly rude and hostile. I would have no use with a small child as an ally, albeit a clever one. Gadge is the first to master this and move on. After a few tries and almost an hour of time, I finally create first flames with nothing but dry leaves and grass and two pieces of rock. I manage to do it again with two pieces of wood. I try again, just to make sure I've mastered it. Then I move on. 

When I go to the camouflage station, I find my brother standing by my side. This is the stuff I'd be naturally good at, but he could definitely use a few tips. After a while of trying a few things out, I move on and leave him to it. I try not to watch the Careers, especially Alexis, but just do my own thing. Focus on what _I'm_ doing. So that I don't risk getting discouraged. That way I finally get my hands on two daggers. I get to give them a few swings and find I'm feeling comfortable with them. I throw a few too, and they turn out to be decent hits. This might just be my weapon.

I can see a bow in the corner, but the moment I decide to reach for it, Alexis has already grabbed it. I feel sudden irrational anger. I stomp over to the edible and poisonous plants section. My knowledge is basic, so I could definitely use a few lessons. When some time passes I realize just how much I don't know, so in the next three days I make sure to stop by here and revise every now and then. This could just mean life or death.

So the next three days pass with Trent and I going quietly from station to station, with Finnick advising us from time to time. We do pick up some valuable skills - starting fires, close combat, knife throwing and making shelter included. I got to try the bow a couple of times too. Although Finnick told us not to show our best sides to the tributes, Trent can't help swinging machetes, and I can hardly let anyone else have the daggers. We don't showcase much, though. Despite still not having figured out what to show in the private sessions. Me, at least. I'm sure Trent's gonna shred things to pieces with his machetes.

The Gamemakers include twenty or so men and women dressed in deep purple robes sitting in the elevated stands that surround the gymnasium, sometimes wandering about to watch us, jotting down notes, other times eating at the endless banquet that has been set for them, ignoring the lot of us. They consult with the trainers during our meals as well. We see them all gathered together when we come back. I try not to give them any of my attention. I feel like it's better not knowing whether they have an eye on me and Trent.

Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but at lunch the twenty-four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself. Most of the tributes sit alone, except me and Trent, and Hale and Ruby. I kind of assumed it'd be all the Careers huddled together, but Hale and Ruby seem to think themselves above even Blaze and Alexis. Which is ridiculous. I feel like Alexis could kill them before they noticed what was going on. Blaze and Alexis sit together too, but they don't talk much. No one says a word to us. I see certain tributes looking at me in awe - and I've realized I've forgotten who I've been before the Games - but that stops after two days. After two days they're so used to me in the gymnasium, I'm just another tribute.

I find that I can't even talk to Trent much, not about anything of substance. What would we talk about? Home? Our parents? How much they're suffering with both their children sent off to fight to the death? Everything we could possibly talk about can be nothing but painful. So we sometimes crack unfunny mindless jokes and chit chat about things neither of us really cares about, just to keep our minds off the training while we're eating.

Every day during our training I think about alliances, and Finnick's words ring in my mind. Who could be our best ally? Do I approach the Careers when all of this is done? Alexis is clearly the most skilled one, but I'm thinking District 1 at least doesn't hate our guts already. Blaze certainly does, me, if not Trent. Alexis doesn't look like she cares as much. Do I approach District 1? Will the Careers join forces as they always do? If they do, then it doesn't matter which district I approach. And we are no Careers, but we are District 4. It's basically how it's always been, Districts 1, 2 and 4 together. Still I can't help but notice the dynamics are different this year. Districts 1 and 2 might actually go their separate ways from the beginning this time. Do I forget Careers altogether? Do I forget everyone and just be a part of a two-people team including me and Trent? Somehow, even though my mind knows that's dangerous, in my heart it feels the safest. I feel like I don't need anyone but my brother.

Back on the District 4 floor, Finnick and Amelia grill us throughout breakfast and dinner about every moment of the day. What we did, who watched us, how the other tributes size up. Our stylists aren't around to bring that sense of normality to the meals. When Ajax and Helenna are present, it's almost like we forget we're in the Games. But now, with Finnick's and Amelia's constant reminders, there's no way to forget. Time spent at the table is full of endless directions about what we should do and not do in training. Trent and I are both patient, and eager to hear it all out actually, but at times it all just seems like too much. Like my head is going to burst because I can't keep up with everything. It's like my first months at the Company, when I was a trainee. They basically taught me how to breathe and how not to breathe before I could debut. I feel cramped again, squeezed in between two walls constantly pressing closer against me. But I never voice it out. I can't imagine what it's like for Trent who's never had experience with being molded into something others want him to be.

The night before the third day, I think very hard and for a very long while before I make the decision of what to show the Gamemakers in private. And my last thoughts before falling asleep are hopes that I've made the right decision.


	11. Chapter 11

On the third day of training, they start to call us out of lunch for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. District by district, first the boy, then the girl tribute. As I wait, I wish I was District 12, but I know it's better to get this over with as soon as possible. As we wait in the dining room, nervousness eating up my insides, we realize that no one comes back once they have left. We sit in silence until they summon Trent. He rises, and suddenly I feel like I could hit the restrooms.

''Good luck,'' I say, ''Breathe deep and relax, Trent. You can do this.''

''You too, sis. See you on the other side,'' he says, and I can only nod, before he's gone.

I don't know how long he's in there. Time seems to slow down and speed up for me in no particular pattern. When they call my name, a breath hitches in my throat. I inhale deeply and walk in looking straight ahead. Now is the time. This is where I make an impression. The most important one of all.

I keep breathing steadily so I don't let the pressure deter me. I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this.

The gymnasium is re-arranged in a ten minute span in between tributes according to the skills that the tributes have chosen to display. You don't really get to make demands, but they do set up the whole thing so you can show what you said you'd be best at. So when I walk into the gymnasium, I see platforms of different height, scattered throughout, and poles in between them sticking out and replicas of bushes and trees here and there. I also know there are dummy targets, but those are supposed to pop out, so I don't see them right now. I won't see them until I start.

I've been secretly using kitchen knives and a small target pillow Finnick smuggled into my quarters to practice before bed, so I'm not too devastated and scared I'll mess it up. I just have to focus. I know that if I keep my focus, I can do well.

''Miss Harlaw,'' I hear a voice coming from the Gamemaker area, ''You may start.''

And then I see a countdown up above. Ten minutes. I didn't know they'd include that, though I'd basically told them. Not explicitly, but I remember bragging about being able to do it all very fast. The skill I've chosen to display is basically running, climbing and jumping while keeping undetected half the time, and all of it under ten minutes. A voice in my head is starting to second-guess this. But I know the moment I move, the clock will start ticking. So I calm myself, and take another deep breath, and tell myself to focus and that I can do this. Then I step forward, and the clock shows 9:59.

I run to the weapons, grab the daggers, sheath them and then I'm running to the first platform and climbing it, keeping in the shadows cast by the lighting. When I'm up there I stick to the bushes and trees, then jump onto the other platform then onto a pole in between, then again onto another platform. The poles are so thin I can only step with one foot and stay a mili-second. I don't look at the clock until I'm halfway through, and I definitely don't look at the Gamemakers at all. When I'm halfway through, the clock is showing six minutes left, which makes relief flood over me. I'm not even tired yet. Maybe I can do this. 

But I'm soon convinced this will only be getting more difficult in the next half, because once a dummy target pops out seemingly out of nowhere, I'm thrown aback for a moment. Thankfully, I control myself, and hope the Gamemakers never noticed my getting startled. I use both my daggers to decapitate the dummy and move on. My heart is beating really fast and my breathing is erratic and I know that If I hadn't controlled myself back there, I would have fallen off the platform and onto the mattress below and that would have been it. I would have failed. I would have been given the worst score ever in the history of the Games probably.

But I move on, jumping, running, keeping on the low, killing dummies. The only other mishap occurs when I get to the rope. I was never good at climbing ropes, but when I get to this one I realize I'm not supposed to climb it. I'm supposed to use it to get to the other platform, the final platform, as the gap in between is too big. There's no way I can jump, and I'm starting to think I can't swing hard enough either. But I can't fail now. Not here. Not so close to the end when I know I've done relatively well.

I gulp, take a second to steady and calm myself, and without much thinking - because I know thinking will only mess me up - I run and throw myself at the rope. I catch it, I hold on to it, and it swings forward. Not wanting it to come to a halt so I have to swing it from scratch - as the time is ticking and I can't afford that - I kick my legs forward, then back, then forward, then back. There's less than a minute left. Forward, back, forward, back, and I cannot afford another second, I don't have time, and although it doesn't look like enough swinging to get me across, I jump anyway, because if I'm late it'll be the same as if I fell. So I take a literal leap of faith. 

When I'm across, and my feet touch the ground, it almost surprises me, and I fall down and roll onto the ground from the force with which I've gotten across. And I think that's it. I've done it. I went through that entire terrain in under ten minutes. Under! There's seconds left.

But that's not entirely it. I shouldn't have remained lying down trying to catch my breath thinking it's over, because I'm attacked by something. It looks like a dummy target, but it moves and fights like a man, and now I understand it's a robot specifically designed for these trials. The targets I've had to eliminate so far haven't been able to fight back. This one is not only fighting back, it's attacking.

And it's so strong as we struggle on the ground, all I can think about is - I can't defeat it, the clock is ticking, I can't defeat it. It's a machine. Of course it's stronger than me. It hasn't run across all that, and even if it did, it wouldn't tire. We're literally wrestling for who knows how long, and I've lost all hope of finishing on time, so now all I want is to get it off of me so I can go rest, damn it. I've done my part. Teeth clenched, last ounces of strength pulled out of me, I manage to push the dummy robot off, and I manage to pull out one dagger and put it exactly where a person's heart would have been, before it can attack me again. My dagger's in the designated red circle, and the dummy finally stills, as though dead, and I wait a second to make sure, because at this point I wouldn't be surprised if it jumped me again. 

But it doesn't. I look up and see the clock's already gotten to 00:00. There's no way of knowing if I was on time or not. I finally look to the Gamemakers for the first time. Some are looking at me, but most don't show anything on their faces at all. A number of them isn't even looking my way. A couple of those not looking are too focused on the food. A few are nodding appreciatively, but that's it. I don't get a word from them, except: ''Thank you, that would be all, Miss Harlaw.'' I realize the voice is coming from a man with an odd looking beard and haircut, speaking into an impossibly small microphone.

I am underwhelmed by their response. Even if that was an utter failure, I'd like to hear it. To know. I hate them so much right now, for being so cool and uncaring, that I could burst. However, I only nod, and climb down. I leave the daggers and a piece of rope I cut on the way, and move to the elevator on the other side of the room. I am left not knowing what to think.

And then I'm overwhelmed. I realize this as I'm going up the building - I don't know if I want to cry, or scream, or maybe even be happy about how I did. I have no idea how I did. Did they like my little show? I think I've done decently, a few mishaps not counted. But maybe they still thought it awful. Not good enough. Unimpressive. Was I on time? Or was I late? It's all too much. I go straight to Trent's quarters, and fling myself on his sofa, face down buried in the pillows. He's sitting in the chair across, switching TV channels, probably looking at me like I'm crazy.

''How did it go?'' he asks uncertainly.

''I don't know,'' I say, mumbling into the pillows, ''You?''

''I guess it was okay.''

Good. He must have done well. A thought crosses my mind - what would the Gamemakers do if I died right now? Suffocated under these pillows, left them without a tribute? Would they cancel the Games and re-do the Reaping or would they just replace me? Would Molly Wellwood have to come in my place? I lie like this for a while, and Trent doesn't ask me a thing anymore. He's just flipping through channels.

I wish I could at least cry all of this frustration out. I'm torn from my thoughts by the knocks on the door. I know it's either Finnick or Amelia or both before they even enter. 

''The assessments are done!'' Amelia chirps excitedly, ''You shall get your scores in just about,'' she checks her clock, ''Five minutes! You won't know them until tonight though.''

They tell us things I don't care to hear, I just want to be alone and sleep for a year. When they're gone, I find it a relief, and when Trent goes to his bedroom, I cry for the first time since the beginning of all this.

At dinner, I try to eat as much as I can despite my having no appetite whatsoever. Everyone is nervous, but Trent looks better than me. I guess I'm just having a moment of weakness after all this time of being the strong one. It's good, I tell myself - get it out now. Before you enter the arena. Over there, you'll have to be a shark. So get it all out now.

Once we've eaten, we've seated ourselves in the living room area and turned the TV on waiting for the results. I curl up in the corner of the sofa, knowing full well I look like I have no will to live. Finnick sits next to me, and Trent on the velvet chair, but Amelia doesn't seem able to sit down. She's too excited. Her pacing around is irking me, because the sound of her heels against the floor is the last thing I want to be hearing right now.

''Three more minutes,'' she announces nervously. None of us speak. There are creases in Finnick's forehead as deep as those in ours. As though he's to be evaluated himself.

Helenna and Ajax join us right before the announcements start. They take their places and remain just as quiet. All of a sudden I think of Leto. I miss him. He could calm me down right now.

Finnick picks up an apple and grabs a bite. ''What were their faces like?'' he asks me. He didn't want to ask me anything when he saw in what kind of mood I was. But now he just looks like he can't resist anymore.

''I think they purposely wanted to look indifferent no matter what,'' I explain, ''It adds to our anxiety. I bet it makes them happy when they see the tributes biting their nails all to the core.''

''You couldn't see anything?''

''A few of them nodded, I think. Like in approval. But some of them weren't even looking, I think. I felt stupid.''

''Yeah, they do that sometimes,'' he says, ''It's good you're District 4. By the time they get to District 12 they'll be so bored and tired and drunk they won't even care to look at them.''

''But that's not fair,'' I argue.

''Is anything?'' he asks, and that shuts me up. The announcements are starting.

Hale and Ruby both get tens. Blaze gets a ten, too, and Alexis a twelve, which is the absolute maximum. Suddenly, I want to throw up. 

''I am going to get a terrible score,'' I say, suddenly panicking, ''I'll get a terrible score and then all you've done will be for nothing, Finnick, and my entire strategy of relying on my sponsors will go to waste and we will both die before we ev- No. No, what am I saying, I-''

I do hear myself babbling, but I can't be coherent even though I want to be. I think I may be having a minor anxiety attack all of a sudden, but I calm quickly when I see Trent in his chair and remember why I'm here. I'm the strong one. I have to keep him safe. Finnick clasps my arm and looks at me in a way that says: ''You'll do just fine, calm down.'' I give him a small smile of gratefulness. They're about to announce District 3 tributes' scores.

''If you do get a low score, it doesn't necessarily mean you'll lose your sponsors,'' Helenna says, her voice sounding very serene, ''Tributes have gotten low scores on purpose before. That way others don't see them as a threat. It's kind of a strategy. People will bet on whom they want to bet, regardless of the score sometimes.''

That comforts me beyond words.

Gadge gets a six, which is more than I expected. I wonder what he's shown them. If you're not a Career, chances are you'll get a score of five, on average. Everything above is considered a job well done. Careers always get above eight, of course.

Lanni - the sixteen year old girl from Gadge's district - gets a six as well. Then it's time for Trent. I draw a breath, and I don't realize I'm holding it until I hear the score. Eight. Trent got an eight. I release that breath and everyone in the room is suddenly cheering and congratulating and Trent looks so confused but all I can do is laugh in relief. An eight! That's a better score than seventy percent of the Tributes, guaranteed.

Then it's my turn. A picture of me shows up on screen, and my heart is beating ridiculously fast as I'm waiting for a score to pop up below it. If my heart doesn't calm, I'll faint from this irregular breathing. I can feel Finnick squeezing my hand. Trent is about to eat his own fist. I don't look at anyone else in the room. Everyone is waiting, but the seconds seem to drag on as years. And I'm hoping for an eight with every ounce of my being.

And then I see it. A ten. An actual ten. The cheers don't come as quickly as they came for Trent. Everyone is staring in disbelief for a moment, before it breaks out. I hear Amelia and Ajax squeal, and Helenna shout out something, and in the corner of my eye I can see Finnick and Trent celebrating and trying to approach me but I'm still staring at the screen thinking this has to be a mistake. There is no way I scored as much as the Careers. There is no way only Alexis has gotten a score higher than me. There is absolutely no way.

''Mari?'' Finnick shakes me, a grin on his face, ''Mari, you scored a ten.''

''You okay?'' Trent asks.

''This can't be,'' I barely whisper, and then I'm handed a glass of water from my brother and I'm finally back in reality.

''How?'' I insist, ''I thought I did well enough for an eight perhaps, but I- I wasn't that good, there's no way I-''

''Apparently, you _were_ that good!'' Finnick insists.

''I don't know what you did, sis, but they loved you,'' Trent says, clasping my shoulder, looking me in the eyes as though to make me believe.

''This calls for a celebration!'' Amelia squeals in excitement.

''And I second that,'' Ajax claps.

''Are you sure you're alright, sweetie?'' Helenna asks, rubbing my back gently, ''Maybe you need to rest a bit after all of this.''

''No, I- Uh, I'm fine.''

''Then I'll order the champagne,'' Ajax claps once again, before he walks out of the room in his very flamboyant way.

And for the first time since the announcement, Trent and I are hugging each other so tight I fear letting go of him.


	12. Chapter 12

Other tributes who stood out were: Barker, the brown-skinned boy from District 7 I noticed when we watched the Reapings recap, who got a nine; and Cara, the ginger girl from District 6 who got a seven. Everyone else had an average score, which ranks us pretty high up. I don't know what the standards for this year are, but the more I think about the scores the more I don't know how to feel. This works to our advantage in one way, but could be a set-back in another. What if they target us right away? These are the thoughts that cross my mind as I watch a new day dawn over the Capitol. There's barely a soul out yet, I can see through the window. The sky is pink-ish. The Capitol is so much more beautiful when the streets are empty.

After a while, Finnick knocks on my door and stops whatever depressing string of thoughts I was going to have.

''Did you rest well?'' he asks, sitting on the bed next to me.

''Yeah,'' I stretch, ''I guess.''

''Sleep a few more hours if you can. You have the morning off.''

''What, why?''

''Today you're supposed to be coached for the interviews. You're kind of a pro at that already. The presentation part, at least.''

''What about Trent?''

''He's already with Amelia, teaching him how to walk and all.''

''Ouch,'' I say and then we start giggling, because the mere thought of Trent with Amelia, learning the Capitol ways, is the funniest thing in the world.

''The schedule for today was four hours with Amelia to work on presentation and four hours with me to go over the content,'' he explains.

''Ooh, four hours,'' I frown, ''It really takes that long?''

''This is as much of a survival technique as any.''

''Yeah, I guess it is. Actually, I think four hours might not be enough for Trent.''

''He'll survive Amelia,'' Finnick grins.

''We should probably go over the content the two of us and save us some time, huh,'' I sit up.

''Actually, that's why I'm here. If you don't wanna sleep some more, that is.''

''Nah, I couldn't if I tried now. So what is so important to learn about the interviews? I think I know how to answer questions.''

''I don't know about you but I'm not doing anything on an empty stomach,'' he says, and soon enough he's calling on an Avox who brings us a big tray full of breakfast foods. Finnick takes his shoes off and gets comfortable on the bed and we munch on the food together. We go over a few things as we're eating.

''I mean, the Capitol already knows you, right?'' Finnick starts, ''You're popular and loved already, we have the whole Capitol's sweetheart thing going on, so we don't have to worry about how you want to come off. You do the charming thing you always do.''

''Yeah, I'm kind of an expert at this point.''

''So we focus on what you say. It's not gonna be long - three minutes tops - but Caesar can be tricky. Sometimes he asks you something you don't even notice is dangerous. You have to stay sharp. Remember not to say anything that could in any context come off as anti-Games.''

We go through possible interview questions and come up with different approaches to answering, trying out very different strategies. It doesn't take us long - after years of being interviewed I'm kind of a quick learner. I know Ceasar well and how much he can subtly provoke sometimes, but I don't think he could catch me red-handed, and Finnick's pretty confident about that too. So after we discuss the whole thing a bit more, I realize I've eaten more than I normally would have. When you talk, you just kind of get lost in the food, you eat out of habit instead of hunger. I guess I _could_ put on those pounds I considered before I get to the arena. 

I finally get out of bed to shower and get dressed. Finnick has to go and do his duties, and after that he'll catch up with Trent on what to say in his interview. I probably won't see them the whole day. I'm not sure how I feel realizing I have so much time off. What am I to do with myself?

Amelia comes over once she's done with Trent, and we have some coffee together and a civilized chit chat. It's surprisingly pleasant, and once she's gone I feel like it's too soon. I am left in my quarters again.

Around lunch, I wander around the Tribute Center. I'm not allowed to step out of the building, so I fear even coming near the exit door should someone mistake that for an escape attempt and just gun me down. I don't know if they'd do that, but I wouldn't test it.

I'm not allowed to go to the gymnasium either. Training's over and that's that. Which is unfair in my opinion, because how much can you perfect your skills in three days? That's ridiculous. So I just walk around aimlessly, passing by Avoxes and a couple of Peacekeepers. There's not a tribute to be seen, but I come across a few people I recognize as mentors, rushing off somewhere. There's building staff too. I feel alone in a good way this time, and fantasize about just walking out remaining unrecognized, so I get myself back to my apartment before someone decides I have no place wandering the halls and drags me back.

I spend the afternoon lazing around and flipping through TV channels, my only company being an Avox girl that doesn't want to spend a minute with me longer than necessary. I wish she'd just sit down and watch TV with me. I wouldn't tell anyone. Unless they're all monitored in some way. I bet a portion of my apartment is monitored too, but I've grown so used to being under surveillance it elicits no emotion from me.

Trent and I get to have dinner together. Amelia and Finnick are off somewhere being busy because of us, so we enjoy the meal by ourselves. It's pleasant, and it doesn't exactly feel like we're going off to the arena. It's just a normal meal, at least until it's over. As the day comes to its end, we're more aware of what's coming. We talk for a long while, topics of conversation pouring out - I guess because we both want to distract ourselves - until we fall asleep next to each other the way we used to when we were kids.

The prep team gets to us the moment we wake up in the morning. They work on us until late afternoon, and it's the evening when Helenna gets her hands on me to put me in a dress. I wonder what she has in store this time.

I thought there would be no dress in the world that could make me stop and stare after that one I wore for the entrance, but this one doesn't exactly leave me indifferent either. As for the texture, it's similar to the first one, but the cut is definitely more sexy. It's a mini dress on the front, revealing my thighs, but falls to a gown at the back, dragging after me. The corset cut is the same, but it's a hard-constructed corset, playing up my figure. The color is darker blue, perfect for the evening, and there's a pop of color with my dark burgundy red sandals that match my lips. The make-up is more heavy definitely, my eyes really accented so my natural eye-color really stands out. My hair is pulled to one side, so it flows over my shoulder and down my chest in shiny waves. Even my skin is shimmering in a way that's impossible to get eyes off of me. They've done a perfect job. If this was to be assessed, I'd get a perfect eleven. I look like a beautiful sultry water creature made to seduce you and devour your soul. I've been made pretty before, but this is just beyond it all. The Games will push boundaries of everything. The woman I see in the mirror is hardly me.

''Thank you,'' I only say, and I feel like it's not enough. When I inspect the fabric of the dress closer, I can see tiny sapphires in the brims of the corset. She really put a lot of effort into this. Of course she did it for her career but a part of me can't help but think she really tried her best to help me too.

''How about a twirl?'' Helenna smiles.

I twirl and hear gasps among the prep team.

Too soon it's time to go. The interviews take place on a stage constructed in front of the Training Center. I'm nervous, but not afraid. Nervousness can be positive. I've done this a million times before. I'm actually comfortable on a big stage, in front of cameras, in front of people, being interviewed, performing. Suddenly I realize how much of an advantage this gives me. A lot of the tributes will be shaking with fear or tongue-tied because of stage fright. I just hope Trent isn't one of those tributes.

When we meet up with Trent's team at the elevators, I can see how handsome they've made him look. I mean, they actually managed to do something with his impossible hair. That's quite a feat. And the color of his suit matches my dress and he looks so tall and beautiful. That color looks really good on him. His sleeves are rolled up the same way, and our matching body art can be seen again. Even Finnick and Amelia are all dressed up. 

Trent's nervousness does not go unnoticed by me. He's trying to hide it, but I know him too well. I don't know what Finnick decided to do with him, what kind of image they created in those four hours. But I trust Finnick. 

''You have to relax,'' I whisper in his ear as we're going down, ''Just remember what Finnick taught you, and relax.''

''It's easy for you to say.''

''I know, but everything you learned will get you nowhere if you look like a fish out in the dry.''

He sighs. ''I know. I got this. Don't you worry,'' he smiles at me.

''I don't,'' I smile back, ''I know you'll do well.''

The fact of the matter is - I don't know. But of course I don't tell him that. Maybe the fact that I believe he'll do well will make him try harder. 

When the elevator opens, the tributes are being lined up to take the stage. 

''They already love you, so there's nothing I can tell you,'' Finnick whispers to me with a confident smile, then turns to Trent, ''As for you, just try to remember how much smarter you are than all those Capitol dummies and the pressure to impress will evaporate.''

Trent's face relaxes completely and I can tell he appreciates that piece of advice more than anything. I kiss Finnick's cheek unafraid of messing up my lipstick - high class cosmetic brand of lipstick that can only be removed with specific wipes - and we proceed.

All twenty-four of us sit in a big arc throughout the interviews. I'll be seventh, since girls go first. That's kind of good. I wouldn't want to go first because those who come first just don't leave much of a lasting impression, and I definitely wouldn't want to go last once the audience is already bored to death. 

Although evening is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer's day. An elevated seating unit has been set up for prestigious guests, with the stylists commanding the front row. The cameras will turn to them when the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balcony off a building to the right has been reserved for the Gamemakers. Television crews have claimed most of the other balconies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed into it are completely packed with people. Standing room only. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in. There will be no blackouts tonight anywhere. This is the most important event of the year.

Looking around I can see I was right - most tributes are nervous. Trent seems like he's dealing with it well, perhaps because he's seated next to me. I hope he'll remain that way once he's sitting next to Caesar as well.

Caesar starts the show with a few jokes as always, which gets the crowd going. I've been interviewed by a large number of MCs so far, but the interviews with Caesar have always been the liveliest. He is a showman, and the best one in the business. He knows how to make you laugh and how to make you cry. He knows how to make you care. There is no other person in the world that could work on the Games the way he does. I'm grateful for him, because if there's one person that could pull the best out of you, it's Caesar. He is one of the people that make this whole thing just a tiny bit easier for the Tributes.

Ruby opens up the interviews, and the stylists seemed to have really played up her name. Ruby-colored dress decorated with rubies. An unoriginal idea and just a decent design, but it will definitely make everyone remember her name, if they haven't already. I can kind of guess the angle the tributes will be playing before they even get to open their mouth. Hale is the arrogant pretty boy that's supposed to make the ladies swoon, I guess. Alexis is a vixen. She looks beautiful, and sexy, and confident, and her replies are witty. Blaze is the tough guy, ruthless and ready to get into that arena. Gadge is... I don't know what a twelve-year-old could be taught to be. He's just himself. He looks ridiculously adorable in his tiny formal suit and glasses. He's amazingly clever, and keeps making the audience laugh not because he's being funny but because such clever answers are coming from someone so tiny and young. His prep team must have wanted to play up his cuteness. He's definitely won over me, I realize, and hate myself for it. I don't want to kill him, but he will have to die. That tiny, clever child will have to die for no purpose at all. The thought threatens to ruin everything I've built up for the night, so I push it aside. Lanni looks pretty, her auburn hair in a long braid across her shoulders. She's intelligent. Definitely, unmistakably, academically intelligent. And then it's my turn.

Caesar announces me in a very grandiose way, which makes the audience react as though they could barely wait for my turn. I move like a superstar - chin up to where it's supposed to be, bright smile on, legs shimmering as I walk. I've done this a million times, my thoughts echo. Caesar even helps me sit, like a gentleman, offering me a hand. He doesn't shake it formally the way he shook everyone else's. He's already comfortable with me, and I feel I can own this.

''Our lovely Marinelle,'' he smiles, ''You look stunning as always.''

''Thank you, Caesar,'' I smile with fake humility everyone loves in a celebrity.

''The Capitol already knows you,'' he says, ''The Captiol already loves you, and the Capitol will be very sad to see you enter that arena. Am I right?'' he asks the audience, and I hear affirmation and a regretful 'aww' here and there.

''Well, I'll definitely miss the Capitol,'' I say.

''What will you miss most?''

''My fans,'' I say, ''They've loved me and supported me for so long it's almost like they're a group of friends at this point. I could always count on them. I love each and every one of them.''

The audience goes emotional. I hear more aww's and scattered cheers and affectionate messages here and there and I congratulate myself mentally thinking - _Bravo, Marinelle. Bullseye._

''Awww, that is just beautiful,'' Caesar adds, keeping his constant communication with the audience, ''But Mari- Can I call you Mari?''

''Almost everyone does,'' I grin.

''Mari, it must be terrifying to go into that arena with a sibling. How do you feel?''

I remember not to reveal whether we'll work together or not just yet. 

''I try not to think about it before we actually get to the arena. I'm a fighter, and he's not so bad himself, so we'll see what happens,'' I smile charmingly.

''Just the kind of answer I was expecting,'' he grins, ''I have to tell you, we were all surprised by your high score. People have been talking bias because you are so loved here, but that is of course ridiculous and you know people will be people,'' he mock whispers and chuckles, ''There is never bias among the Gamemakers.''

That's true enough. They don't care who dies and who wins.

''So how? How did that come about?''

''What can I tell you Caesar, I was trained to endure a three hour long concert, full of singing while dancing full strength. That's no small feat,'' I blink to the camera that's focused on me, perfect timing. The audience seems to swoon.

''Ah, indeed,'' he smiles humbly before such an obvious fact, ''And you've been mentored by Finnick Odair himself, that is one combo of superstars not to be reckoned with.''

The cameras turn on Finnick, and he waves off good-naturedly and smiles that smile that manages to be both humble and confident, shy and sexy. He's perfected it beyond perfecting. 

''Yes, I've learned a lot from him,'' I say, looking to him sitting in his row.

''Now, I don't want to be nosy,'' he starts confidentially, ''But a rumor has it you and Finnick are really close. And the rumor doesn't say friends.''

I blush humbly, but I'm not really embarrassed, I'm angry instead. But of course I'll play this out perfectly.

''No, he's just a good friend.''

''Oh, can you hear that?'' Caesar frowns.

''What?''

''The sighs of relief of every young man and woman in Panem.'' 

And then the audience starts laughing and I laugh too. This is what I'm talking about when I say I'm grateful for Caesar - he actually helps the tributes. And then the buzzer goes off and he kisses my hand and I get to leave the stage.

Once I'm back where I'm supposed to be, I don't feel relief the other tributes must be feeling once they're done with the interview. I feel the nervousness kicking in because of Trent. I look to the audience, and Finnick gives me thumbs up. That relaxes me a bit.

Apparently, I needn't have worried, because if Trent's nervous up there, he's not showing it at all. He seems the opposite, relaxed in Caesar's company, and making the audience laugh with his replies. He's actually managing to do something out there to win them over. He's really playing up the humble fisherman thing and self-deprecating humor that people genuinely seem to like from what I can see in the audience. 

''What do you like most about the Capitol?'' Caesar asks at one point, and suddenly I'm afraid Trent will blow his act because he hates the Capitol. I draw in a breath in anticipation.

''The showers,'' he says, ''Do you know how much regular soap it takes to wash off the fish stink?''

I sigh in relief. Everyone is laughing. With him, not at him.

''I have no idea.''

''And you don't want to know, trust me.''

More laughter. I'm laughing too. I feel so proud I think I might float off my chair. Caesar asks him about whether he has a girlfriend back home and he shyly replies that no, he doesn't, and the cute humble boy act - again - is selling because the girls in the audience are definitely reacting to it.

''It must be quite something having a celebrity in the family. Marinelle's quite a star. Tell me, Trent, have you ever felt, perhaps, in her shadow?''

''No, but I'd be all too happy to live in her shadow. She is the sun,'' he says, '' And I love her more than anything.''

This actually makes me emotional. I can feel the corners of my eyes watering a bit as the crowd is throwing awwww's at us. I cast a glance at the big screen and see that they've given a close-up of me and my watery eyes are unmistakable. I give a smile and wave, and the cameras are back on Trent.

Trent isn't the type for open display of affection. I don't think he's ever said to me what he just said. He's the type that shows, instead of says. He's always sucked with words. I'm blown away by how he's pulling off this interview.

''You were quite upset when she volunteered, if I recall,'' Caesar says.

''Yes, but... I understand. I would have done the same.''

The crowd is throwing more intense awwww's than ever. Trent has won them over completely. He's made them involved now. He's made them a part of our struggle. They'll all want to watch the siblings survive together or fight against each other. He's nailed this.

''What a lovely young man!'' Caesar announces to the crowd. ''Oh! There's the buzzer. Well, best of luck to you, Trent Harlaw. I think I speak for everyone when I say I wish we had more time to get to know you better.''

''Thank you,'' Trent replies, and they shake their hands, and he goes back to his place.

We're not supposed to talk up here in the arc, so all I can do is look at him and smile and hope it gets the message across. I'm proud proud proud. And I love him. And we're in this together. He gives me the same expression. 

Under the influence of our interviews, we can hardly focus on what the others are saying. It just passes by in a blur. I don't worry that someone will outshine us - everyone comes off as different and shines their own kind of light and I don't think anything can beat the celebrity and her brother.

When it's all done, after the anthem, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. I think about using this chance to approach District 1 tributes and propose an alliance. Trent seemed on the same page with me about it. But before I can, they're the ones approaching us. Both Hale and Ruby are standing right in front of us, starting what I already know is going to be an alliance.

''I wanted to congratulate you,'' Hale says, and he speaks in such a way that I can't help but think of a spoiled rich kid whose mom still picks out his clothes for him, ''Those were some pretty high scores and you have left quite an impression. We've thought about it, and we'd like to propose an alliance. Together, we could make it to the finale.''

Trent and I only cast a short glance at each other.

''What about District 2? They're Careers,'' I say.

''Ah, yes, but they seem to be going solo, both of them.''

''Oh.''

''So? What do you say?'' Ruby asks.

I look to Trent one last time to make sure we're on the same page. He nods.

''Sure. Let's be allies.''

''Great!'' Ruby chirps, and her large earrings swing.

''I guess we'll be seeing each other,'' Hale says, before they both disappear.

The crowd slows our entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones, but everyone in my team seems to be in a good mood. Everyone is chatting happily. Me, Finnick, and Trent on the other hand, are not. We were, just before we boarded the elevator, but as we're rising up, the realization that Trent and I are being sent off to die is sinking in again. We've grown quiet, separated from our upbeat crew.

''You both did great tonight,'' Finnick says again, as though to break the silence.

''Yeah,'' I only say.

''You both actually stand really good chances in these Games,'' he says, but I don't want to discuss that, so we remain silent until dinner. Sweet, delicious dinner. We're all too hungry to think about anything else, thankfully.

After dinner, we watch the replay in the sitting room. I was the diva I'm supposed to be, yet humble enough to be approachable, and direct enough to be honest, and flirty enough to be charming. I nailed the interview, but that wasn't surprising. The surprise of the evening was Trent. He's genuinely charming, humble, honest, good-natured, funny, cute, and perfectly desirable by every single spoiled rich girl in the Capitol audience. I cannot get over it. He just laughs it off and waves it off when we tell him how good he was. 

When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush falls on the room. Tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused and prepared for the arena. The actual Games don't start until ten because so many of the Capitol residents rise late. But Trent and I must make an early start. There is no telling how far we will travel to the arena that has been prepared for this year's Games. 

Finnick and Amelia won't be going with us, and not having Finnick with me there when I enter breaks my heart. As soon as they leave here, they'll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up our sponsors, working out a strategy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. Helenna and Ajax will travel with us to the very spot from which we will be launched into the arena. So we make our final goodbyes here and I hug Finnick for too long. I feel like crying. I never want to leave his arms again, but I know I have to. If I'm going to go die, this isn't the proper way to say goodbye. And I haven't thought about it until this very moment, too late.

Even Amelia has teary eyes - surprisingly, honestly - as she thanks us and wishes us good luck and kisses us both on the cheeks. She actually pinches Trent's cheek too. For some reason, she's grown to genuinely like him. 

When everyone's gone, Finnick lingers. He's standing there, looking like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and I feel dangerously close to crying again. Trent goes up to him first, hugs him, thanks him, tells him it's been a pleasure and how he wishes he could have gotten to know him better and then he thanks him again, this time for taking care of me and being my friend. Then he politely waves good night and retreats to his room, leaving us to say our goodbyes in privacy.

''Any final advice?'' I manage to ask.

''No advice, just a wish.''

''What is it?''

''Please,'' he looks into my eyes and I can see the pain and that he's actually begging, ''Fight your hardest.''

''I will,'' I say, and this time he's the one to get to me in two large strides and hug me with all his might.

''Remember all I've told you,'' he says.

''I will,'' I say, ''I remember,'' but I can't stop holding onto him tightly.


	13. Chapter 13

I don't see Trent in the morning and assume we'll be going to the arena separately. Helenna comes to me before dawn, gives me a simple shift to wear, and guides me to the roof. My final dressing and preparations will be alone in the catacombs under the arena itself. A hovercraft appears out of thin air, and a ladder drops down. 

Inside the hovercraft, a woman in a white coat approaches me carrying a syringe. It's just a tracker she tells me, before she injects it into my arm. It stings pretty badly, but I don't care at all.

An Avox boy comes in and directs me and Helenna to a room where breakfast has been laid out. I try to eat as much as I can, although I'm so nervous, I barely have any appetite.

The ride lasts about forty-five minutes before the windows black out, suggesting that we're nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands and Helenna and I are led down into a tube underground, into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We follow instructions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation. They call it the Launch Room. Everything is brand new in here, shining in a way that can only mean nothing's ever been used. Brand new arena, brand new everything, every year.

I start doing things I'm supposed to do rather mechanically - I go wash my teeth, take a shower and all that trying not to think about the arena before I actually get there, or Trent before I actually see him. But it's hard, very hard, and I even try vomiting once to get that queasy feeling out of me, thinking it's the food that's making it worse. But I can't throw up, and thankfully too, because I need the nutrition. Helenna is very calm and serene, talking to me in such a gentle way that I think she's doing this to get me to relax. I'm grateful, and when she does my hair, pulling it up in a high ponytail, I actually do relax a bit. She massages my scalp in a way that would make it impossible not to relax. I breathe deeply.

Then the clothes arrive, the same for every tribute. Stylists have no say in the outfits, but Helenna helps me dress in the undergarments, simple tawny pants, light green blouse, sturdy brown belt, and thin, hooded black jacket that falls to my thighs. 

"The material in the jacket's designed to reflect body heat,'' Helenna says, ''Which means you won't freeze to death at night.''

The boots, worn over skintight socks, are soft leather with a narrow flexible rubber sole with treads through. Good for both running and climbing, I'm happy to realize. 

And then I'm all set. The only thing left is to be launched up, and I try to remember to breathe normally. The nervousness is making me feel light-headed, and I can't afford to be dizzy now.

''Relax,'' Helenna says, looking at me like she feels sorry for me, ''Walk around. Shake your limbs.''

I do exactly as she says and indeed find it sort of relaxing.

''Make sure everything feels comfortable,'' she says.

''No, it's perfect. Everything fits me. The boots are great,'' I say, admiring them for a moment.

''Good,'' she says before she approaches me and puts both her hands on my shoulders, ''I believe in you. I really, really do.''

''Thank you, Helenna,'' I manage to utter, ''I'm just-''

''Remember everything Finnick told you. It will be alright.''

It's not what she says but the way she says it that makes me relax a bit further. But there's only so much she can do.

Helenna asks me if I'd like to eat some more before I'm launched up, but I can only have another bite. I make sure to drink more water, though. I want to be well hydrated because there's no telling when I'll find a source of water.

But then the realization that everything could absolutely go wrong right away and that I could be dead in less than an hour sinks in. Suddenly the nervousness mixes with fear, but I shake it off, mentally encouraging myself, remembering what Finnick told me. Fear can do nothing but cripple me.

We're sitting in silence, waiting, and maybe it's the silence that's making me feel so terrible. Helenna realizes this because she asks me if I want to talk, but I find that I can't utter a word anymore, so I just sit there, my hands limp in my lap. She sits next to me and takes my left hand, and holds it until it's time to go, and I'm grateful for that too.

A pleasant female voice announces it's time to prepare for launch. I walk over and stand on the circular metal plate. "Remember what Finnick said. Get Trent and get out of there. Find water and hole up,'' Helenna says again, ''You can do this.''

''I can do this,'' I whisper like it's a mantra.

''You can do this,'' she repeats, ''Good luck, sweetie.''

And then a glass cylinder is lowering around me, intercepting the thank you I was going to breathlessly say, cutting Helenna off from me. She smiles at me, genuinely, and lifts up her chin to remind me to act the way I've acted for years. Head up. Shoulders back. Smile. You're a superstar. 

I do exactly that. The cylinder begins to rise. For maybe fifteen seconds, I'm in darkness and then I can feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder, into the open air. For a moment, the bright sunlight is blinding.

Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms all around me. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games begin!" 

Sixty seconds. That's how long we're required to stand on our metal circles before the sound of a gong releases us. I think about Trent stepping off his circle a second earlier and being blown into pieces. It's like my own mind is playing against me, trying to cripple me, or make me break down. But I fight it.

We're standing in a circle of high rocky mountain-sides, confined in between. There's green grass and some green bushes up the sides of the mountains and a couple of trees, and a small patch of sky above. The sunlight is only falling onto the Cornucopia, we're all standing in the shadows of the mountain-walls around us. We're literally enclosed with nowhere to go, except the eight tunnels in the mountains. They're distributed perfectly, with equal distances between, and I know this entire arena set-up is artificial, as real as it looks. The Cornucopia is in the center, filled with packs, and weapons, and all these precious things you will absolutely need, and I feel tempted to try and snatch something. But I remember Finnick's words, and when I find Trent four places to the right from where I am, I try to remind him with nothing but my eyes and hope he gets the message. He, on the other hand, is nudging his head to the side, motioning for a tunnel where he's planning to run. The tunnel entrances all look completely the same, and there's no telling what we might find inside, but there is no other way to go. To make it clearer for us that we're supposed to enter, the Gamemakers have set up timers above the entrances that now say 10:00 and would start counting down the moment we step off our plates.

Finnick's words ring in my ears, but I can't stop looking at the weapons in the mouth of the Cornucopia. I can see a bow and all sorts of blades, and I've been instructed not to even consider getting any of those.

I look to Trent. He's motioning for the tunnel closest to him, and since we can't separate, that means I'll have to run to him, through at least four tributes that hopefully will be too busy with the Cornucopia to mind me. It's a better option than him running to me and into the tunnel behind me, because I'm so much faster. I nod, signalling that yes, I'll be right there and we'll run as fast as we can into the tunnel. But I can't help being tempted by at least one backpack, if not a weapon. I'm probably faster than most of these tributes, except the Careers. I could absolutely run and take something and run away, I dangerously think. But what if Alexis decides to put me down with just one arrow? I can't risk that.

But Hale and Ruby are our allies. Which means it's just Blaze and Alexis that are my biggest threat now. Maybe we could defeat them, and I'd outrun the rest of the tributes. But then Finnick's words ring in my ears again and I can't shake them. I wish he'd shut up and stop making so much sense.

I will be targeted by pretty much everyone except Hale and Ruby. They all want to get me out of the way, being so popular and famous and with such a high score. I am aware of this.

In my mind I'm telling myself not to do it, but my feet are ready to sprint toward the Cornucopia. Trent sees my change in position and seems to insist that I run toward him, but instead I motion for him to get to the tunnel and keep the tunnel. I show it with my arms too - keep the tunnel, wait for me, I'll be the first there, don't let anyone else through. If they have weapons - run, and I'll find you. Of course, there's no way I can get all of this across, but we have always had a special connection and were always able to understand each other without words. Somehow, I know he knows what I'm trying to tell him, because he is now shaking his head in disapproval. But I'm fast. I'm faster than all of them. Sorry, Finnick - the thought crosses my mind. It also crosses my mind how stupid I am and how much of a risk this is but I know I'm going to do it. I feel excited more than scared. 

The gong rings and I run - I run so fast I think I might not be able to stop and just slam into something. I don't look around, but I know I've outrun them all, and I'm closer to the Cornucopia than anyone running from the direction opposite me. I've picked up a black backpack along the way without stopping, just plucked it off the ground without slowing down and now I'm at the mouth of the horn and everyone is so close and I know I have barely a couple of seconds to get a weapon and get out of there. I see them in the same section thankfully, so I grab a machete and a double sheath with daggers and now everyone's in the Cornucopia and the fighting's started and I see glimpses of blood in the corner of my eyes but I'm already running back, toward the tunnel in which I can see Trent. 

I clip the leather double sheath with daggers to my belt while I run and keep the machete in my hand. Trent is closer and closer with every step I take and I think I can make it - I've gotten the weapons and whatever it is that's in the backpack and we'll get to run away too. But then I feel someone on me, pulling on the backpack, and as I've only hung it on one shoulder so as not to waste a precious second, pulling it off is rather easy. I turn around instinctively, and instead of letting the boy from District 11 have the damn thing, I fight for it. Which is stupid, it's instinctive, I don't think. If I had used my brain I would have just thrown the thing at him and run off. But we're fighting over it, and as I instinctively held onto the backpack, he managed to throw me onto the ground. I've dropped the machete - I should have been ruthless and just cut him in one swing, he doesn't seem to have a weapon other than his fists - and I can hear Trent calling my name. The boy pulls on the backpack again and I'm still attached to it tightly like the fool I am, and then he kicks me in my ribs. He's strong, definitely stronger than me, and that kick gave me such a pang of pain that all I can do is react to it and let go of the pack. He has it now, and I turn to see Trent running toward us, to help me, weapon-less, so I pull out a dagger from my belt and throw it at the boy. It's a bad throw, and the dagger ends up in his calf, but it's disabled him, and that gives Trent the chance to punch him and disorient him and take the pack. He's done it by the time I've picked up the machete, and now we're at the entrance of the tunnel which now says 4:27. We run into the darkness and we don't slow until we make sure we've put enough distance between us and the others. It's pitch dark, and we run until there's no light from the entrance anymore. Then we stop, because we could blindly hit something or fall into a pit. Running now would be reckless.

We sit there in the darkness for a short while, and I can't even see Trent, but I can feel him next to me, and the only thing we can hear now is our breathing, and the battle outside cooling down. Then we hear a door close and know it's the tunnel closing, and there isn't another sound from the outside. We won't even hear the cannons. Whoever made it in, made it. I don't want to think what happens to those who don't make it inside. The Gamemakers probably either gas them, or give them mutts. Or just starve them out.

''You should have retrieved the dagger,'' I whisper, ''Now I've given him a weapon, made him deadly.''

''Are you crazy?'' he hisses, but still in a whisper. We might not be alone in the tunnel.

''I'm just saying.''

''What were you thinking! You could have been killed there! You're- you-''

''I had a good feeling.''

''A feeling!''

''Well, I've survived, haven't I?''

He only huffs in response to that. ''We should keep moving,'' he says.

''We can't in this darkness. Hold up,'' I get hold of the backpack and feel it up to find the zipper. Once I've done that, the buzzing sound of it echoes throughout the tunnel, just like our whispers. If anyone can hear us, I can only hope they can't see us, just like we can't see anything. But maybe there's some sort of light source in the pack to help us move on.

''Maybe there's a flashlight,'' I say hopefully, feeling up the contents of the pack.

''Be careful, maybe there's something sharp.''

The first thing I feel in the dark is unmistakably a container and my heart instantly leaps thinking we'll have water, but I'm disappointed the moment I grab it. It's empty. I curse, but ignore Trent's questions. We should stay quiet and talk the least we can.

My fingers also recognize what could be either a sleeping bag or some piece of clothing but it's definitely made of something resembling plastic. Perhaps waterproof. It could be useful, if we ever make it out of the tunnels - maybe we could use this to cover ourselves when it's cold if nothing else. There's only a way out now, no going back, and the tunnel has to lead somewhere. My guess - the other side of the mountains. The thought of it makes me already miss fresh air. 

I hiss when I feel up wire, rolled up around something. It doesn't seem like a small coil. It's too sharp not to be handled delicately, and I've cut myself. I suck on the finger instinctively and Trent whispers that he told me to be careful. I dive back in and try to sort things through. There are snacks - a bag of something, probably crackers. Another bag of something edible. And then I stop myself from cheering in victory.

''Yes!'' I only whisper, and pull out a flashlight. When I feel it up and find the button, I slide it up and it clicks three times before the tunnel is flooded with light. Everything is illuminated, and it's absolutely, horribly blinding. I realize you can choose the intensity of the light - that's why there was three clicks. I test it out, and true enough, the light goes from dim, over a bit brighter, to as bright as the sun. I put it back on dim.

''I don't believe your luck,'' Trent says, as we get up to keep moving.

''Let's just hope I haven't used it up,'' I say, handing him the machete.


	14. Chapter 14

''You seen anyone get in before us?'' I ask as we walk cautiously, flashlight in hand. The tunnel looks exactly the same and apparently never-ending.

''That kid Gadge slipped through,'' Trent whispers, ''And I don't know if someone entered while we were fighting over the stupid backpack. Or after us, before the door closed.''

''You let him?''

''Who?''

''Gadge!''

''He didn't have a weapon. What was I supposed to do - punch a twelve-year-old boy?''

No, of course. I understand him. It's ironic that we're supposed to kill him. I say as much.

''Well, if the kid has to die, I hope it's not by my hands,'' he says.

''Me too. You think someone could have slipped after us?''

''Probably. There was about four minutes left until it closed. And there's eight tunnels. There's bound to be more tributes in a single tunnel.''

''Well, if someone's tracking us, they're keeping a safe distance and they're definitely dead silent.'' The thought makes me uncomfortable. We have light - for now - but not indefinitely and I can't keep looking over my shoulder.

''Look at this damn tunnel,'' Trent says, ''Of all the things I imagined, I never expected this. What are the Gamemakers trying to do?''

''Lead us through hell.''

Trent apparently shudders. ''Even our light footsteps are echoing and I don't feel like we're alone at all,'' he says.

''That's because we're not. I bet there's night vision cameras everywhere. Anyone you wanna say hi to?''

''Heey, mom and dad,'' Trent waves to nothing in particular, but I know it's caught on some camera or a dozen.

I huff and shake my head. ''You're ridiculous.''

We walk for another hour, and nothing changes. But we're as alert as can be, and the apparent emptiness is only making our hairs stand on end. We almost walk on tiptoe. And then we hear a pebble fly off and hit a wall and we just freeze. That did not come from us.

Trent and I only share a knowing look before I turn my flashlight off. We're so still you can't even hear our breathing anymore. But so is whoever's in the tunnel with us. Quietly, I pull out my dagger. Back to back, Trent and I are facing both directions, and waiting for whatever to jump us. But nothing happens.

''Maybe it was nothing,'' Trent whispers, ''We should probably move on.''

''That wasn't nothing.'' I know what I heard. I know when there's someone else in the room with me.

I turned off the light so that whoever that is doesn't see us, but now I'm thinking I should turn the light back on and get rid of the intruder before they get rid of us. But can I kill if they don't attack? Can I really? Or will I freeze?

Without another thought, I strengthen my grip on the dagger and turn on the light, and before I can make a defensive stance, I see Gadge standing in the light, his hands in the air. By this time Trent is already pointing the machete at the kid too. But we're not moving, and neither is Gadge. He's just standing there with hands in the air, looking like he's second-guessing his own judgement. By what I can see, he has no weapons on him. But he has a pack.

''If you let me live now, I will give you my things,'' he says shakily.

''Didn't you slip in before us?'' Trent asks, machete still pointed at the boy.

''I waited until you passed me. I'd rather have you ahead of me than behind me.''

''Smart boy,'' I say.

''I- I don't have any weapons, and you could kill me now of course, but if you give me this one chance to slip away I will give you my pack.''

I can't kill him. I don't want to kill Gadge. And I know that Trent feels the same way. How could I? I cannot even imagine it. But letting him go ahead could potentially mean our own death. Could this kid kill us somehow?

''You just had to pick this tunnel,'' I grumble, more to myself than anyone else.

Trent waits a moment, looks to me, and then says: ''Alright, kid. You can go. Put the pack on the ground.''

And so Gadge cautiously moves to lower the backpack, and I can't have it. I know I'm already being as stupid as I can be and the Games have barely started, but I just can't leave this kid without what he won by surviving and escaping the bloodbath.

''No,'' I stop him, ''If we're gonna give him this chance, we're not gonna take away his chance. You really wanna let him live? Then let him have the backpack.''

Trent looks at me like I'm crazy. ''I don't want to kill this boy personally, but he'll have to go eventually. Or do you think he'll win this thing? I'm fighting for you here.''

''And I'm fighting for you. But you either kill him where he's standing, or you let him leave with that damn pack. He actually escaped the bloodbath for that thing. I don't care, Trent. That boy won't kill me, or you.''

''Fine! He'll die anyway,'' Trent grumbles, putting back his machete.

''Th-thank you,'' Gadge stutters, slinging the backpack over his shoulders and trying to move but he looks like he wants to say something else but is second-guessing that as well.

''We could- we could be allies?'' he finally says.

''What?''

''We already have allies,'' Trent says.

''Well, where are they?'' Gadge asks. Outsmarting us again.

''We'll meet up with them eventually.''

''But you're here now,'' Gadge says, ''You're here, and your allies are who knows where, and this is now, and not eventually. There's only me here, and I could help you.''

''You mean, we could help you,'' Trent says, ''How in the world could you help us?''

''I'm clever, remember?'' 

Despite everything, I actually smile. The kid does have the brains, I remember him making fire using a piece of wire and a glass bottle. It's not like he'd be useless. And this is just the beginning of the Games - we'd separate later on anyway.

''You _are_ clever,'' I say, ''How about this - you stick with us until we get out of the tunnels. Then we all go our own ways.''

''Uh- Alright,'' Gadge says, and Trent again looks at me like I'm crazy.

''You let him in,'' I shrug at him.

We seem to walk for an entire day without anything changing, but thankfully, Gadge has a bottle of water, and he lets us have a little bit. This kid may very well be our salvation here, ironically. I don't trust him though, so when we sleep that night, it's Trent and I who keep watch switching shifts. Gadge trusts us enough to sleep soundly next to us, and it's no wonder since he's so clever - he knows we would have killed him by now if we wanted to. We know night has fallen officially when the anthem starts playing in the tunnels and they start showing fallen tributes on the ceiling. One... two... three... four... twelve faces show up. Exactly half of us are still alive and in the game. It's terrible. But it's an indicator to me, to us. I know exactly who's left and who to watch out for. All the Careers are alive, as expected, as well as Lanni from Gadge's district - which seems to put a smile on the boy's face even though the anthem woke him up. Barker from 7 is still out there, and that boy from 11 who got a dagger in the leg from me. Cara from 6, too. I notice these are all the tributes that got above average scores. And the skinny boy from 9 who seemed harmless enough to anyone. I don't know the names of 11 and 9 because they never stood out. This could be what Helenna was telling me about. Maybe they lowered their scores on purpose, because right now it's survival of the best and the fittest.

In the morning we eat some of the crackers and move on. We try to save as much as we can of both food and water, because there's no telling how long we might be staying in the tunnel, and there's no sign of an underground water source or any living creature to hunt and eat. 

The kid turns out to be an absolute wiz. The moment he relaxes around us is the moment he starts throwing theories at us, and all of them make absolute sense. But they're the kind of theories to make you nervous enough to eat your own palm.

''I am almost positive this place is a gigantic booby trap. We should expect deadly traps at any point now,'' he says.

''How do you know?'' Trent asks, ''It's been safe enough so far.''

''That's exactly how I know. You think people will want to watch us walk? Of course, the other tunnels are probably completely different, and there may be plenty of action happening at this moment, but trust me, something is cooking.''

''Makes sense,'' I say, ''It's been safe too long. That's probably to get us to relax, and not be so alert. You know, hit us when we least expect it.''

''Exactly,'' Gadge nods.

''How are you so smart, kid?'' Trent frowns.

''I read a lot, I guess,'' Gadge shrugs.

Of course the technology geeks from District 3 would read a lot.

In just about an hour, something finally changes. I sigh in relief although it's nothing to be relieved about - I was simply going crazy in all that sameness of closed space. Now we're at a fork - the tunnel is turning into three. We all freeze simultaneously before the three open doorways. Where are we supposed to go?

Then I see something carved into the stone plate above. I come closer and cast some light on it. It's a message.

''What does it say?'' Trent asks.

'' _You must think, and so get ready, to choose a path, perhaps less deadly._ ''

''Is that a riddle?''

''It would have to leave us clues for it to be a riddle,'' Gadge says, ''It's blind luck. We're supposed to guess.''

''Perhaps less deadly,'' I repeat, ''Every path is deadly, it's just that there's one less deadly than the others.''

''Great,'' Trent grumbles.

''They might be trying to make us split up now that we're allies,'' I realize, ''They expected fighting and bloodshed in the tunnels, not diplomacy.''

''Well, they won't see that happen,'' says Trent, ''So how do we choose?''

''We spin the dagger. Wherever it ends up pointing, that's where we go,'' I suggest.

''It's as good a method as any,'' Gadge shrugs.

I spin the dagger and it ends up pointing at the doorway to the right. Blind guess. 

''Hope you haven't used up your luck, sis,'' Trent says, as we reluctantly make our way through. Once we do, the door shuts closed behind us, and we all jump, startled.

''Guess there's no going back,'' says Trent.

''Unless there's another tribute in the tunnel to reach that point,'' I say, ''I bet they'll open a door for them.''

The moment we stepped onto the next tunnel-way - since it's a bit raised above our former ground level - we realized everything's changed. The ceiling which was a normal distance away from us is now barely an inch above Trent's head. Also, it's going slightly down-slope. If you're claustrophobic, chances are you're not surviving this sequence.

''We have to proceed really carefully,'' Gadge says, so we only nod and move slowly in silence.

We walk half a mile when I hear a loud cracking sound and realize it's coming from me stepping on something. I look down and see a pressure-plate - exactly the kind of thing we're supposed to look out for in here - and I cuss and Gadge goes pale and Trent keeps looking around to see what we've activated, but it doesn't take long until we find out.

A loud booming noise and a loud cracking sound of broken bricks and rocks comes from the entrance of the tunnel and then it just starts thundering. What scares the life of me is that the thundering sound comes from a place closer and closer every second. Whatever it is, it's coming toward us, and I cuss again and tell everyone to run and so we run, not really knowing what we're running from.

I look across my shoulder and soon enough see it loom into view - a large enough to fill the room piece of rock rounded up as a ball rolling its way to us ready to turn us into liquid. This time I scream that they run, and pull out the strength from some place in me I never knew existed until the bloodbath. It's nearer and nearer and it speeds up the more it rolls because of the downslope and I know that if we don't find a way to avoid it and let it pass through or stop it, we will be dead meat.

It's as though the Gamemakers can hear my thoughts and want to give me some relief for some reason because the moment I think that is the moment we step on level ground. No more speeding up for the rock for the time being but we still have to run just as fast. I'm surprised Trent and Gadge can still keep up with me, although they're at my heels.

And then we see a gap ahead of us. We have to jump across it. This is it for the ball of rock - it can't proceed.

The thing is we don't have much time to think, and the platform on the other side of the gap is much higher, so it won't be as easy to get across. In fact, it looks next to impossible.

''Shit! That's too high!'' I shout as we run toward the edge.

''I have an idea!'' Gadge says.

''Well, hurry!'' I urge him, because we're already close to the place where we're supposed to jump or climb or do whatever, and although we've by now put some distance between us and the deadly machination, it's still coming for us. 

Gadge is fumbling with his backpack, and soon he's pulling out a long piece of rope with a noose already created. I ask no questions as we now stand at the edge, all I can do is turn to the other side and watch the ball rolling toward us and shout for them to hurry up, hurry up.

''Oh, crap,'' I hear Trent utter, too quietly and too devastatingly for the situation we're in, so I turn around to see what's going on. I find him looking into the abyss we're supposed to cross, and following his gaze, my eyes land on the ridiculously long and sharp spikes that would have skewered anything. Some of them are bloody, and there are pieces of entrails hanging on a few. Someone's been here before us, and whoever that was has fallen.

''I can't get it across!'' Gadge shouts desperately, and that wakes me.

''Of course you can't!'' I say, taking the rope from his hands and giving it to Trent. I know what he's trying to do - to wrap the noose around the rock on the other side and secure it here so we can climb ahead. I don't think we have that kind of time but Trent gets it on the first try and as soon as he tugs on the rope to check if it's safely wrapped, he ties the other end around a rocky bump in the wall next to us.

''Hurry up,'' I can see it coming, I can see we'll be crushed very soon if we don't get out of here now.

Gadge goes first, since he's the lightest, and I remind him not to look down or he'll paralyze and get us all killed, and he obeys, the poor kid - he's making his way across with closed eyes. When Gadge is halfway through, Trent insists I get on next, and I say that there is no way, and since we have no time for arguing, he grunts in defeat and disapproval and starts making his way across. Right when the ball is too close, it's my turn, and I hear Trent and Gadge cheering me on before I'm halfway through, but it's no use, because the ball is here, fallen into the gap and cut my rope, and I know I'm falling into my death if I don't climb at the speed of a bullet.

With the ball stopped among the jagged spikes and one end of our rope dangling down there too, Trent and Gadge are shouting and pulling on the rope as I'm falling to meet my own end. But I'm halfway through and I'm still holding onto the rope, and I try to curl up as much as I can so that the sharp edges of the spikes don't reach me, but I end up growling in pain anyway. I'm not dead, curled up on that rope, but I'm definitely bleeding from my leg. I look down and see the spikes barely an inch below me and I know that if I lose the grip on the rope, I'm dead. If I so much as move downward, I'm dead. If I change the curled up position of my body, I'm dead. The pain isn't even too much right now that I'm focused on not breathing hard enough. Trent and Gadge are pulling me up anyway, and the pain doesn't truly hit until I'm safely across and sitting down to catch my breath. Then I see the blood pouring our of the deep cut on my calf, and it's ironic and almost a kind of justice for my throwing a dagger at the boy from 11. Our wounds are on the same place but mine is worse. 

Trent has taken his shirt off and made bandages of it before I can really tell. Gadge has spared some drinking water to clean my wound, and pulled out the iodine from his backpack. My leg is wrapped in no time, and Trent has done it three times around so it doesn't bleed through. I don't bother moving, all I'm trying to do is catch my breath and get back to reality. They've given me a couple of gulps of water to drink too, but I see them only take a gulp each. And all I can think about is - how am I supposed to kill this kid?

''I told you to get across first,'' Trent grumbles.

''You would have died,'' I say, ''You're not fast enough. It would have been your entrails on the spikes next.''

He doesn't want to argue, so he only grunts angrily and keeps quiet as we sit there on the ground, re-gaining our strength.

''I can't believe we survived that,'' Gadge breathes out.

''Yeah, what was that?'' Trent asks.

''It's only now sinking in,'' I nod in agreement, thinking it over, and ignoring my injury. I am determined not to show the pain of it until it heals. I think about my parents as they watched that, or Finnick and Leto. 

''How much longer until we're out of these damn tunnels?'' Trent grumbles.

''Maybe this is it. The Games,'' Gadge suggests, ''Maybe this is the arena.''

''No way,'' I argue, ''It's against the rules to cut us off from the Cornucopia, isn't it? We're supposed to be able to return for supplies any time we want. This is probably just a sequence. And it has to lead somewhere. Once we make it through, they'll probably clear our way to the Cornucopia. You can bet everyone will need supplies after all of this.''

Trent and Gadge only nod, and one of them whispers: ''I hope you're right.''


	15. Chapter 15

''We should probably move on,'' I say, knowing full well how difficult that's going to be now.

Trent looks at me like I'm crazy. ''You can't walk. You'll bleed out.''

''I won't put pressure on my left leg, it's gonna be fine.''

''No, it's not! Your leg needs to be raised up the way it is!''

''So what do we do?!'' I throw up my hands, ''We can't just stand here!''

''Marinelle is right,'' Gadge says, ''We don't have enough supplies to last us, and someone could catch up with us. Or the Gamemakers could just send something our way. We're out in the open.''

''We can't exactly make shelter here,'' I add in support of the argument.

''But,'' little Gadge continues, ''Trent is right too. Your cut is too deep for you to walk.''

''I'll carry her,'' Trent offers.

''You'll only exhaust yourself before we cover a mile,'' I argue.

''We'll take breaks. But we have to move. It's the only way.''

So Trent picks me up bridal style and we continue, more slowly and more cautiously. We take occasional breaks, sip on water, realize we're about to finish the bottle, try not to despair, and continue on. We don't talk much. I'm still the one in charge of lighting up the path, but at least it's two feet less on the ground now. It was me who triggered that trap after all, it was my fault I got hurt and it was me who could have gotten us all killed. I try not to think about it and guilt-trip myself, because that can't do us much good at the moment. Instead I remain focused and try my best to ignore the bitching pain in my leg. In my defense, that pressure plate looked like any other piece in the floor; there was no telling it apart unless you inspected closely. So now we're inspecting closely, and making progress more slowly than we can afford.

Another couple of hours of walking, until the mutts appear.

I don't know where the snakes appeared from – some invisible cracks in the walls apparently. But all of a sudden they have us cornered and they're hissing so loud it makes my ear buzz and my head hurt. It's abnormal the way they shriek, and it makes it impossible to focus, but we still stand with our weapons drawn. They aren't attacking yet, but we're expecting it any second. I can barely stand firmly, and Gadge has nothing to defend himself with. I count seven of them and they're long and thick and black as night. I realize the gravity of the situation.

''Gadge, stand back,'' I order. He can't die now that we might pretty much need him to survive the tunnels.

''Don't let them bite you,'' Gadge says shakily, ''Not even scratch you.''

''You can bet their venom kills slowly and agonizingly,'' Trent says through his teeth, shifting weight, keeping his defensive stance.

''Why aren't they attacking?'' I ask. It's creepy, the way they're just standing there and hissing at us.

''Maybe they're waiting for us to make the first move,'' Trent says.

''Start our own bloodshed,'' I grumble, and stop myself from making a comment about the Gamemakers, ''You take the four on the left, I take the three on the right.''

''No, leave them to me,'' Trent says, ''What are you gonna do with one leg and a dagger?''

''You can't take them all!''

''Let me try,'' he argues, ''Jump in if you think I'm failing.''

And without waiting for my answer he jumps in and starts cutting them down with his machete which I admit is the perfect weapon this time, and all I can do is stand in front of Gadge and wave my dagger around protectively. Two snakes are upon us, and every time either jumps at us, all we can do is take a step back, and another, and another, until our backs are against the wall. I can hear Trent hiss in the background but I can't afford to turn around – all I can do is hope he didn't get bitten. I consider throwing my dagger at one of those snakes – I'm positive I could make a kill, but then that would leave me weaponless and exposed. When Trent comes to our aid and leaves just one snake standing, I make my throw. The dagger pins the snake to the floor, through its neck. It's done.

It all happened almost too fast. It's only once it's finished that I realize how fast my heart was beating. It's only now that I get the slight shakes in the knees. 

''Is everyone alright?'' I ask, trying to breathe properly.

''Yeah,'' Gadge's voice wavers a little bit.

''Trent?''

''Yeah, it's just,'' he scratches his arm and neck violently, ''It just itches.''

''Trent!'' I all but throw myself at him, inspecting his hands, arms, neck. He tries to pull away but I don't let him.

''It's nothing,'' he complains.

''You have sleeves for a reason!'' I say as I pull them down – his skin is blistering wherever snake blood sprinkled him, ''Don't scratch!''

''It was hot! We can't afford to sweat so much!''

''Gadge, give me the water,'' I demand – there's no telling what these blisters might turn into.

''We only have two sips left,'' Gadge stutters.

''I don't care-''

''That's not enough to clean my skin anyway,'' Trent argues, ''Leave the water. I won’t scratch it and it'll be fine.''

''What about iodine?'' I ask.

''If the skin is not clean, it could make things worse,'' Gadge says, ''And we don't know what kind of substance is causing this-''

''That's it, we’re getting out of here,'' I say, zipping Trent's jacket up to his neck, ''You, don't touch your skin. You, stay close to me. We need to find water.''

''You can't walk-''

''I'll hop on one leg! Let's go.''

And so we proceed, just as carefully but much faster this time. Even though Trent won't say it, the blisters are getting worse and he's trying really hard not to scratch himself and I caught him discreetly looking under his sleeves to check on it with worry. I'm losing blood despite the job well done on the bandaging, and it's speeding up my dehydration. We're all getting dehydrated, and I mentally try to calculate how long it will take until my occasional fits of dizziness turn into something more severe. How much time do I have until I faint? That's surely going to come before we die of dehydration.

We need water more than anything. But gifts such as water are always most expensive, and I wonder whether our sponsors are aware how much we need it right now. I wonder why Finnick hasn't already sent a bottle – surely we have plenty of sponsors and each and every one of them can afford a bottle of water at this point. What's happening on Finnick's side of the Games at this moment? Maybe he's just saving it for when we need it most, because we'd drink it before the moment of our most dire need. I can't think of any other explanation. Surely he knows we only have two sips of water left.

When night falls, Gadge takes the first shift. It's cut short when Lanni's face appears on the ceiling while the anthem plays. She's the only victim of the day. Gadge looks sorry, and murmurs something under his breath before he lies down facing the wall. Maybe it was a final farewell, something they say in his District. I didn't hear, but he doesn't turn around until the morning. 

I keep awake in the dark for a few hours, keeping my flashlight off and saving the batteries. The only sounds are coming from Trent, murmuring and shifting. He must be having nightmares. When it starts getting worse, I wake him – it's time for his shift anyway and I do need sleep and to recover my strength for tomorrow. It has been two ridiculous days, and I shudder at the thought of the Games getting even more difficult from this point on. I don't know what's with the Gamemakers this year, but we've faced more in two days than some tributes in a week.

In the dark I can't really see, but when I touch my brother I realize he's dripping with sweat. He silently sits up and lets me lie down where he lay.

''Bad dream?'' I ask quietly.

''I guess,'' he says.

''Are you alright?''

''Yeah.''

''Trent.''

''I'm fine.''

I don't trust him; there's something in his voice. So I sit back up and blunder in the dark until I manage to feel up his face. He's burning. That's why he's sweating, not because of the nightmares.

''Trent, you’re burning up.''

''I'm fine.''

''No, you're not fine, we need to get rid of that fever-''

''It's not that bad, we'll figure it out in the morning,'' he says.

''Trent-''

''Please, go to sleep. We have a couple of hours before we're back on our feet. I can survive a bit of a fever for that long.''

I don't like it, but I know there's no arguing with him, and besides – I don't think there's much we can do. We need water, and Trent needs it most now that he is sweating profusely. And I can't stop it. There's absolutely nothing I can do.

So I obey and lie back down and I do get to have some sleep but it's really not enough. I keep waking up from either nightmares or worrying over Trent. I check up on him and sleep another half an hour over and over again until it's time for us to start another day. 

I'm sick of the tunnels. I can't stand the darkness anymore, nor the stale air. I need wind and sunlight and water and I want to cry at the thought of it.

In the morning, I readjust the bandages and find that the wound looks better and isn't bleeding as much. I tighten it all even more. Trent is still burning up, and he looks sick. We all look sick because of dehydration, but Trent's worse. My mouth feels sandy, but I don't talk about it. I try not to think about water, it's only torture at this point. We eat a few crackers, just enough to give us some starting energy but not enough to make us even more thirsty. I don't exactly feel hunger, because there's so much of everything else to worry about, but I know we're malnourishing ourselves. These crackers aren't giving us much, and we won't be able to have a proper meal until we get out. But water is priority now.

None of us have the strength to speak. We drag ourselves on, but I know Trent is the one only getting worse as time passes. When his blisters go from itching to stinging, he tries to keep it a secret, until after a few hours he can no longer take it and all but peels his jacket off and throws it on the floor.

I try not to let terror consume me when I see the state of his skin. There are blisters up both his arms and the left side of his neck. They don't cover much skin, but they're bad themselves – red and violent and turning into actual wounds with each moment. 

''You should cover yourself,'' I say as calmly as I can manage, picking up his jacket, ''You should cover your skin, it's not smart to leave it exposed to this foul air and dirt everywhere-''

''I can't,'' he says with such desperation in his voice that I actually think for a moment that he's going to cry. This is when I start really worrying. He just slides down onto the floor. And I can't be weak.

''Trent, I know it hurts, but you have to,'' I offer him the jacket.

''No, it’s only making it worse,'' he says.

I tie his jacket around my hips. ''You rest a bit,'' I say, ''Then we move on.''

Trent nods, and Gadge gets him to drink our last drop of water, and we sit there for a bit, until Trent starts making sounds of agonizing pain that he's trying to stifle. I don't know what to do, and I can't watch him like that, and I can't cry either. 

Suddenly, I hear a familiar sound. A sound I haven't heard since entering the arena, but a sound I know signifies a gift from the sponsors. It takes a moment for me to register it, but then my heart leaps up! Water! Finnick's gotten us water! I direct my flashlight toward the beeping sound, and soon enough I see the package on what seems to be a small shelf in the wall a few paces down the tunnel. I basically run and throw myself at it. The gift literally came from the wall. The moment I pick up the package, the shelf goes back in and the small opening in the wall closes itself.

What I find in it isn't water, but a tube of something I assume is meant for Trent's skin. I'm so disappointed at the very first moment that I want to scream, but then I realize how precious this is, as well. Just as I've picked up the tube to use it, I notice a small note under it.

_''Don't use it yet. Hang in there.  
– F''_

''Hang in there?!'' I say out loud.

''Shhhhh!'' the boys scowl at me.

''We don't get water, we get medicine, and we're not supposed to use it?!''

''What does it say?'' Trent takes the note and reads it with Gadge.

''But why?'' Trent asks. This has gotten his attention off the pain.

''Maybe you can't treat it until you clean it first, and that's just it,'' Gadge concludes.

''But we don't have any water!'' I exclaim, before it starts sinking in. Before I start realizing it.

'' _Hang in there_...'' Trent murmurs, re-reading.

''Hang in there!'' I say, ''He's not giving us water because we're close to it!''

Trent's face brightens, despite the pain. Gadge's eyes light up in realization.

''Get up! We're close! We're close, get up!'' I rush them onto their feet before we plunge further into darkness.


	16. Chapter 16

When we reach the next doorway, we find a small stone pedestal in front of it, holding a note for us. I approach it but I'm almost afraid to touch it, lest it should activate some other deadly trap somehow. I don't know if we'd be able to take another. My wound is better, but my leg is still bleeding and it still hurts - I still try to walk with a limp so I don't put pressure on it. And Trent is worse. His blisters are getting worse, and they're opening up as wounds and they sting very badly and he has a raging fever and the only reason he's still holding on is my ushering him forward to this supposed water source that's just waiting for us right there. We're all thirsty enough to faint any moment now. I can't even consider the possibility that we've misunderstood Finnick's note. There has to be water. If we don't find water soon, it will break my will, and I'm afraid of that. I don't want us to die in these tunnels. Not even Gadge - since we haven't killed him, he deserves to make it out now. I don't know if he could without us.

''Read it,'' Gadge urges. Trent doesn't say a word, he's just trying to remain functional. I try not to think about him now, if I want to save him. I take the note, and read it out loud.

_''All four are bound to the same land as we._  
_Some lay low, consumed in shadow,_  
_Others stand tall, stretching their necks to see._  
_While none live in this sacred barrow,_  
_They all demand your attention if you are to proceed._ '' 

The moment I finish reading it, a door opens. A small hall is exposed to us, with another doorway at the other end of it. It looks suspiciously safe and simple - just a room we have to pass through in order to reach the other side. Neither Trent nor Gadge says anything; they just stare at the hall ahead - thinking exactly what I'm thinking, I'm sure of it. There's more to it, and this riddle has something to do with it.

''This time it is a riddle,'' Gadge says, ''But I don't know what it refers to.''

''It looks empty,'' says Trent.

''I'm pretty sure it isn't,'' I say.

''We still have to proceed, whatever it is,'' Gadge comes to the logical conclusion, ''There is no way back now.''

''Read it again,'' Trent asks, and so I read the lines again, and they still don't make much sense.

''We have to go on,'' I say the scary truth, ''Unless you mean to spend a couple of hours here trying to decipher this. I don't think we have a couple of hours. Trent, you're worse with every second. I don't know how you're still on your feet. You'll die either way if we don't get you to water.''

''Gadge, can you crack it?'' Trent only asks.

Gadge reads it again silently, and then shakes his head feebly. ''It sounds... it sounds like it's talking about animals, but that still gets us nowhere.''

''Animals,'' I frown.

''Mutts?'' Trent asks.

''I don't think so,'' Gadge shakes his head, ''But I don't know.''

''I can't believe we're just gonna walk into our own deaths,'' Trent mutters weakly, holding onto the wall.

''We don't have a choice,'' I say, ''You ready?''

''No,'' they say in unison.

''Me neither. Let's go.''

We enter the room together, and when we cover one pace inside, a rumbling noise booms throughout the walls. It scares me, and my heart jumps at that, alarmed by danger. I don't even know when I had pulled out my dagger. That's becoming instinctive. But nothing seemingly dangerous happens. The noise comes from another pedestal being risen right from the ground. What looked like just another tile in the floor is now a pedestal expanding a small holder with another note. All three of us share an uncertain look, but I know what I have to do. We carefully approach it, and the moment I pick up the note, the door behind us closes. And it sounds so final, as though to tell you you'll never leave again. I try not to shudder at that. It's closed and that's that. We have to figure out how to open the door ahead of us.

_''The first fears all, The second fears none._  
_The third eats what it can, Preferably number one._  
_The fourth fears the second, But only when alone._  
_All must be activated in order, If you wish to go home._ '' 

And then four totems rise from the ground, right in front of the door ahead of us. Four stone totems with pictures of a fox, a snake, a bear, and a wolf, all basically the size of Gadge. And the moment they settle, and the rumbling noise stops, another type of noise sounds again. It's rumbling way harsher this time, and giving off vibrations throughout the ground. I turn toward the source and I have plenty to see on both our sides. The walls have started moving toward each other, slowly, but they're sure to squash us into liquid if we don't get out of here quickly. I try not to scream obscenities and then I just try not to faint due to irregular breathing and heartbeat amidst all of this combined with my blood loss and dehydration. 

I don't realize my hands are shaking until I'm fumbling with the two notes trying to re-read them and decide what we have to do. 

''Animals,'' Gadge only says, as though confirming his previous thoughts, making another step forward and then stopping to think.

''All must be activated in order, If you wish to go home,'' my voice shakes a bit as I read it again. I run toward the totems, and sure enough they all have buttons atop the artificial stone. 

''Read it again,'' Trent says, barely standing upright. It's hard to focus on anything with the walls rumbling and getting closer to us every second.

_''The first fears all, The second fears none._  
_The third eats what it can, Preferably number one._  
_The fourth fears the second, But only when alone._  
_All must be activated in order, If you wish to go home._ '' 

''Snake fears all,'' Trent says, ''Hit the snake.''

I look to Gadge for confirmation, as though it's necessary coming from a twelve-year-old genius. He doesn't say anything, but scowls deeper, still thinking. I step up and hit the button on the snake totem. Nothing really happens, but I'm pretty sure we're right about the first step. I try not to turn around to look at the walls. They're definitely closer and it's getting harder to breathe under the pressure of this, let alone think. I try not to shake. I try to keep it together.

''The second fears none,'' I say, hoping to sound more strong and determined, ''That's the bear, right?'' 

Trent nods, and I hit the bear button. Which leaves us two.

''The third eats what it can, Preferably number one,'' Gadge repeats, not looking at my notes, ''The fourth fears the second, But only when alone.''

''We have to hurry,'' I try to say as calmly as possible, but I'm sure my voice is still shaky. If I'm not crazy, the walls are speeding up with every milimeter they cover. 

''There's none of these animals in District 4 except snakes so I- I don't know, I- Foxes eat snakes, right? Do they? They should- Didn't we learn that in school?'' I'm rambling, but the walls are so close together now I could touch both if I spread my arms and stretched them as much as I can. We're all huddled together now, and if we don't activate the totems now, they will be squashed by the walls as well, and then there's no getting out.

''Guys!'' I all but scream.

Without another word, Trent hits the fox, and then Gadge hits the wolf, and the walls don't stop, but the door ahead opens into another tunnel. We run - the outer totems have already started crumbling into pieces so we squeeze through - and as I'm the last one to go through, the walls behind me snap together in only a couple of more seconds. They boom and close up the doorway behind us, and I feel like I'm about to faint. My knees shake so much I can no longer stand, so I just slide down. There might be more danger yet, but I cannot face it on my feet. Neither can Gadge and Trent, because they're now on the ground as well, trying to catch their breaths.

''Another tunnel,'' Gadge says after a while of us sitting in silence, trying to breathe properly.

''We're close,'' I say, unwilling to doubt the meaning of Finnick's note, ''We should go on. Trent? Trent!''

My shouts turn into shrieks as I try to shake him awake, but it's not working. He's unconscious, and it's a wonder he's made it this far. I start crying like a lunatic, shaking him, pulling him up, trying to wake him. Gadge tries to calm me down and tell me something, but I can't hear him, it's all in the distance, muffled sounds I do not care to hear. Trent has to open his eyes. I have to make him open his eyes. He can't die, he can't die, he can't die. I'm here for him. I'm here to prevent his slaughter. He cannot die!

''We'll carry him,'' I hear after a while, and that's the only thing that reaches me, ''Marinelle, we'll carry him. Can you hear me? We're close. We can carry him. We'll be fine. Come on now. Let's carry him.''

It's later that I'll realize just how smart this boy is and how he knew what to say to get me to calm down. There's no telling if we're close. There's no telling of anything. But we have to move, and Gadge has made me move. Gadge has, in a way, saved all of our lives by getting me out of my panic attack.

''We'll carry him,'' I almost whisper, sniffling and nodding like a small child. I throw one of Trent's arms around my neck and pull him up; Gadge can only support Trent from the other side, considering his size. I can hardly stand myself, and I can't stand on both legs equally, but I have to get him out, and that is all I need to get me ahead.

''Are you alright?'' Gadge asks before we can move, ''Can you do this now?''

I nod. ''I'm alright now, Gadge.''

''Have you noticed something?'' he asks, but I can only frown, having just returned to reality.

''We don't need the flashlight,'' he says gently, ''There's light in the tunnel.''

''There's light in the tunnel,'' I repeat breathlessly, finally slowly starting to understand.

''We're close,'' Gadge smiles from the other side, but I can hardly remove my frown.

''We're close,'' I repeat, still just as stupefied, before I start moving and we drag Trent along. My leg hurts, and I'm dizzy, and the only thing keeping me conscious is the task of keeping Trent alive. So we move onward, slower than I would like, and when the tunnel takes a turn to the right, that's when I finally see it - sunshine. At the other end I can see trees and green grass and the sun bathing it all and I can feel the fresh breeze reaching us all the way here. If there weren't for Trent, I'd probably fall on my knees and weep happy tears of relief.

And then I suddenly hear water, and that's all it takes for me to pull strength out of some unknown source inside of me and hurry forward despite it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the riddle-puzzle isn't mine, if it's familiar you know where it's from ;3


	17. Chapter 17

Water. An entire pool of glorious water just gushing and pouring out. It's coming from a crack in the rocks, and yet again looks as much of real natural water spring as it can look. Everything's a haze, and I'm so shocked I can barely tell exactly what I'm doing, but Trent's on the grass now, and Gadge and I are both splashing him with as much water as we humanely can. Trent squirms, but doesn't wake up. His skin is worse with every second, large gashes now opening up, and I see no other way of taking care of it than lowering him into the water entirely. I try to do exactly that, though handling my brother's unconscious body is much more difficult than what it probably looks like, and I'm doing all I can - with some help from Gadge - not to let Trent go and drown in the pool. I have no idea how deep the pool is. I don't want to find out.

When we lower him into the pool and the water is up to his chin, Trent releases a wonderful little sigh of relief and comfort in his dreamy state, and it makes a bit of tension evaporate from my very bones. It's soothing. It's doing him good.

''We should keep him in the water a few minutes and then let his skin dry,'' Gadge says as he's holding Trent on the left side with as much strength as he can use.

''We can't stay out here in the open for too long,'' I say, finally hearing my voice as my own again.

''We don't have a choice, unless you plan to leave him.''

Of course I don't. Gadge knows that too, so I don't bother say anything. I don't have the strength to say anything.

After a couple of minutes we finally pull Trent out and lay him down on the grass. We peel away the pieces of his clothing that need to be peeled away to let his wounds breathe. Sure enough, they already look better. The sight of it makes me want to cry it all out. I don't, of course. No room for tears here. You have to be a shark.

Gadge and I spread the medicine Finnick had sent us over Trent's wounds once they dry in the sun and breeze. The first layer of the creamy medicine soothes the wounds visibly, even though most of them are open wounds now - it seems to work either way. The second layer starts drying and forming a crust in just a couple of moments. I wonder if that should be happening, but little Gadge assures me that it's perfectly normal, and that this way it provides protection for the wounds until they're ready to breathe and close on their own. The crust will, apparently, fall off on its own when the time comes. The thing really does work wonders, and I silently thank Finnick with all I have. We manage to patch Trent up in a matter of minutes. He's not healed, but he will be, and it now looks better than I could have even wished for. 

Minutes or not, we're still out here for far too long. I don't think I can carry Trent anymore, now that the panic and adrenaline is gone. He needs to wake up, and he needs to move on his own. I can feel my own weakness now. I splash water onto Trent's face and pour some into his mouth. It takes a couple of tries and then a few moments, but he does start regaining consciousness this time. With a sigh of relief, I basically sink my entire head into the pool of water. It's icy cold, but I can barely mind. When I pull out and pull back my wet hair out of the pony tail and clean my face and turn back around, Trent is awake, though with his eyes almost closed, asking for water. It's Gadge who rushes to fill the bottle and give him to drink.

''Don't gulp so fast, you'll throw up,'' I say, but to no avail. Trent is so dehydrated he just can't get enough water in him. I can only hope he doesn't throw it all up, with the little food there is left in his stomach, since there's definitely no stopping him now.

When he's done drinking, Gadge drinks up too, and I drink from my own bottle, before we re-fill them and get ready to move. Trent can stand now, and steadily enough, while I seem to barely have strength enough to stand on my own two feet. My leg is better and hurts much less, but there's still a protruding pain every time I take a step with it. I assume it will be gone in a few days entirely. Until then I'd have to endure and move on with a slight limp.

''We should find shelter,'' I say. There's nothing but trees all around us. It's a forest area, and all I can think of is either up in the trees or somewhere in the bushes. If we had rope enough, maybe we could sleep up in the trees. But that's not an option now, with the piece of rope Gadge has.

''We have to stay close to the water too,'' I add. 

''I guess this is where we part ways.''

I've completely forgotten about it. I turn to Gadge, and he's standing there in his tiny body looking through his amazingly unbroken glasses - they must be Capitol made - and looking at me so stoicly and so unlike his fragile age, that it makes me feel something. What - I'm not sure of. But he helped us. He helped keep my brother alive and well. And now he's going to walk out, completely unprotected on his own.

That's not mine to think about. I know it's not. He'll have to walk away, as cruel as it is. But I can do at least one more thing for him.

''Stay with us until the morning,'' I say, ''Once we make shelter, I'll go hunt. You could use the food and the rest.''

I don't even look to Trent - he's too exhausted to have an opinion on this. Gadge takes a moment and looks at me with uncertainty at first, before he nods in acceptance of the proposition.

We walk as far as we can, trying not to leave the water source too far behind. We walk silently and try our hardest not to leave trails. In the end we manage to settle among the bushes conveniently taller than even Trent. They're growing right at the mountain-side. There is no way I'll walk any further and leave that water-source behind. What if we manage to get lost? Where do we find water then? The bushes are providing shelter enough, and they'll especially provide cover in the dark of night. As long as we don't make any fires there, it will be fine. 

Huddled next to each other among the tall growth, we eat up what's left of our packed foods. We rest as much as we can for a short while - me and Gadge staying alert in shifts - until we drink up all of our water yet again. With how dehydrated we were, it's no wonder. It's time for me to go hunt something anyway, so I take the bottles for re-filling and set out. Better to get going before the sun starts setting and I lose the light. 

I manage to catch a rabbit by the time evening falls, using our wire and that piece of rope that was in Gadge's backpack. It's not much, but it's big enough for all of us. Once it's trapped, I kill it and carry it back. I don't skin it, for better preservation - we won't get to eat the little fella until at least tomorrow, there's no way we're risking a fire. I manage to gather some edible plants too - only the ones I'm absolutely certain of being edible - and carry it all back to camp. I find my brother and our trusted ally just the way I left them. I feel relief at the sight of them, as though I've been subconsciously dreading that something could have happened to them while I was away. 

It proves to be a peaceful evening, and a peaceful night, without incidents. Before we decide to get some sleep, I spin the thin wire around our small camp. It's sharp enough to make one bleed, and it's high enough to reach an average person's neck. It should be protection enough.

Judging by our own final trap in those tunnels, I expected the death toll to be high this evening, but we don't see anyone up in the sky. Maybe it's because they all picked tunnels easier to pass through, or maybe they haven't even reached the final stages of the tunnels yet. If I were less worn out, it would all probably be more unsettling to me. Right now, I cannot even bring myself to ponder over it.

I manage to get some actually good sleep over night. I had been so exhausted, just about anything was comfortable enough. That rock was as good as a pillow. 

Trent looks much better in the morning. His fever is gone and he looks healthier and stronger and has much more vitality. I can finally stop worrying about that, at least. Hopefully.

When we're fully awake, I cut the rabbit into three equal pieces, and give one of them to Gadge. I also give him a piece of our wire, since he has no weapons on him at all. 

''Like this,'' I demonstrate how he could kill a man with the wire, ''If you use it correctly, it's as much of a weapon as anything. You could literally strangle someone in their sleep. Just don't use it on us.''

Gadge smiles, though somewhat sadly. ''I won't.''

''You know where the water source is, but try to keep out of our way. We won't hurt you, but we're no longer allies either. There's no need for us to be crossing paths.''

''I understand,'' he nods.

''Don't leave trails around. Don't make fires out in the open. If you do make a fire to cook something, make sure to clean up after you and move on from there.''

''I know,'' he smiles, ''Thank you.''

''No, thank you. We may very well have not been able to get out of those tunnels alive without you, little man,'' Trent says, still sitting against a rock, still preserving as much energy as he can.

''I couldn't have done it without you either. As you can see, I'm very small.''

I want to chuckle and cry at the same time. I only chuckle instead.

''Either way, you've been a good ally, Gadge. Good luck out there,'' I say.

''Same to you.''

And so on this quite fair morning, little Gadge walks out of our camp into absolutely certain death. I know this might be the last time I ever see him. I hope he stays alive, but I also hope he doesn't - that'd only leave him for me to kill. I don't want to kill him, and neither does Trent. That's going to have to be someone else's dirty business.

I realize I do not want this child to die, at all, and I want to cry at the injustice.

Trent and I sit in silence for quite a while. It's only once our stomachs start rumbling loudly that we move out of camp to find a spot to make a fire. We roast our rabbit and eat, saving quite a bit of it for tomorrow or even the day after that. We clean up after us, replenish our water supplies, and get back to camp. It's another day without incidents, and it's almost surreal. It probably is surreal. This illusion of safety is only made to make us relax and get comfortable - the Gamemakers are surely aware of our little home for the time being - but I cannot care now. I need a day. I can have that much.

''You think he'll tell?'' Trent asks, as we lie on the ground that night looking at what looks like real stars.

''What do you mean?''

''Gadge. That kid can only survive with allies. He may very well find new ones. He might tell where our shelter is.''

''I don't think he will,'' I say, ''I know it sounds silly since we're in the Games and all, but I do trust the kid. Besides, we won't stay here forever. We should make a plan tomorrow. On one side, I think we should stay mobile, and on the other I think we should just keep close to the water and not leave shelter. And then there's the problem of Hale and Ruby. Do we look for them or do we just not mind that issue at all? Do we move on or do we hole up here? The Gamemakers will surely force us out if we get too safe and comfortable. Perhaps it's better to walk away on our own than bring mutts or some acidic fog upon us. Maybe-''

''We'll think of that in the morning,'' Trent almost chuckles at my rambling, ''We'll think it all through in the morning. Now, we sleep. First watch is mine.''

That night, the sky is silent again.


	18. Chapter 18

We've had exactly two days of peace. In two days no one's died, and in the two days we have regained almost all of our strength. My leg doesn't hurt as much - it pulsates instead. Trent looks almost as though nothing's ailed him in the first place. We have decided against our better judgement not to move from our hide-out for now, expecting the Gamemakers to send something to us anyway. It's a wonder they haven't done it yet. It's almost as though they gave us peace on purpose to let us recover. But why? What kind of sick play do they have for us next?

On the third day we hear a scream, and we immediately know it's Gadge.

I react involuntarily, by complete instinct. Trent grabs my wrist to stop me, but it doesn't hold me back. The scream did not come from far off, and as I'm rushing toward the source I'm suddenly thinking - What am I doing? I come up with an explanation for myself - whatever Gadge is grappling with is too close and therefore a danger for us as well. I have waited and played defence for long enough. It's time to eliminate the threat. I do not remember when I readied my dagger, and I hear Trent rushing after me, grumbling as we go. No more screams come, but we hear commotion, and with another twist and turn we're at the scene.

We watch from behind a tree for a moment as Barker from District 7 is literally wrestling with the little kid, and I remember that Gadge had no weapons last I knew, and Barker is trying to butcher him. I don't know what to do, Trent doesn't know what to do, but as we're being useless and pondering Gadge is managing to keep himself alive by wiggling and clawing and I have no idea how he's managing it this long but he doesn't have much time left.

''Maybe we should let him,'' Trent says, ''Someone will have to do it.''

''Someone will have to, but not while we're watching,'' I say, ''Can you close your eyes and wait it out?''

''No,'' Trent says through his teeth, mad at himself.

''I can't throw my dagger, I don't want to accidentally kill Gadge,'' I say, before a plan hits me, ''Wait here.''

By the look on his face, Trent doesn't like the idea, but obeys anyway, ready to jump in should I need him.

I move to the other side, sneak and crawl through the bushes as inaudibly as I can, until I'm almost right next to them, but Barker has already punched Gadge unconscious and it's going to be too late in just a second and I have to react quickly and I cannot exactly believe I'm doing it as I close my eyes and drive my dagger into the neck of the big, dark skinned boy that never saw me coming. 

I open my eyes once I realize warm liquid is washing over my hand, and the big boy falls at my feet. There was no other way I could have defeated him, and in any version of fair hand to hand combat I would be the one lying dead. I don't yet understand what's happened. I don't yet quite realize that I have killed a person. 

Two canons fire off. And I realize two boys are dead.

''I was too late,'' I say but it's barely a whisper, and everything's a haze, but now Trent is ushering me away from that place and I have no control or say. I'm not me. I'm not awake.

Next I know we're sitting in camp, but it's not our old one. Trent thought it safer to distance ourselves more, and now he's sprinkling me with water again, calling my name, trying to get me to speak.

I look around. We're against a cliffside, sheltered by even denser growth. My hands are cleaner thanks to Trent, but I can see traces of blood in some of the lines of my palms and around my fingernails.

''I killed him,'' I say stupidly.

''And he killed Gadge,'' Trent says, ''Mari?''

''Hmm?''

''You're alright now? You're back?''

''What- What do you mean?''

''It's been a couple of hours since it happened. All you've done is sit in some sort of scary shock and mumble to yourself. Hours.''

He looks distressed. Worried beyond belief.

''I'm back,'' I say, and the realization suddenly hits me, and before I can help it I start crying, truly weeping, seeing Gadge dead in front of my closed eyelids, then my knife taking away Barker's life, then Gadge, then Barker again then Gadge, Gadge, Gadge all over again, and all Trent can do is hold me tight.

The sound of a canon startles us both and I stop sniffling into his jacket. Another dead. Whether in the tunnels or outside, we cannot know.

I don't sleep well that night, I'm plagued with nightmares I no longer remember once I wake. They announce the dead on my watch, and the anthem wakes Trent too from his slumber. He gives me a worried look, but I don't have any sort of a breakdown, to his relief. I say my goodbyes to Gadge, but not out loud. You're never sure how things get across to the viewers.

I'm not sure what I feel when I see Barker up there. Would he have done the same to me without thought? Probably. Leaning toward definitely, actually. But it doesn't make me feel any better about killing him.

And finally, the boy from 9 whose name I never remembered embellishes the sky. His name was Milo. In this moment I'm sure I'll remember him forever now.

I go over the ones left. Careers from 1 and 2, the two of us, Cara from 6, and that boy I wounded from 11. That's eight of us. I'm not sure, but I think it's barely been over a week. They've killed us off pretty fast so far. Maybe that's why they're dragging this out now. No one wants the show over too soon.

The next day, I'm already too antsy. The fact that things are going this smoothly is irking me; it's unsettling. We have no reason to leave the safety of our camp and it's proximity to a water source and plentiful game for hunting, but somehow I still feel like we should. 

''Something's coming, sooner or later,'' I say, munching on some nuts nervously. The sun is setting, and evenings are getting colder each night, but we don't dare risk a fire.

''Well, you choose,'' Trents says, ''We wait for it, or we move on before it does.''

I don't get to reply to that question before I hear commotion. People, talking in a hushed way, and I cannot tell who it is. Trent and I get down on the ground immediately, our tiny camp completely invisible in the bushes. I have to see, somehow, anyhow. I have to know.

I crawl up a bit, pull myself toward the small ledge and move one branch of the dense growth that's hiding us. 

''Are you sure it's them?'' a boy asks.

''It has to be. They haven't separated since they got here. Who else?'' the girl replies.

Blaze and Alexis. When they literally step an arm's length before my face, I duck back down and hold my breath. When I can no longer hear them loud and clearly, I know they're gone.

''They're hunting us,'' I whisper.

''Us?''

''All of us, I assume. One by one. No longer playing defense.''

''Well, they're on to someone.''

''I wonder who.''

''You sure you wanna find out? Better sit tight.''

''Might be Hale and Ruby.''

''So? We've gone without allies this far.''

''Uniting with them could get us to the final four, Trent. We can't beat Blaze and Alexis on our own.''

Trent bites his lip, unhappily considers what I've said. 

''It's too dangerous,'' he shakes his head, ''Alexis could shoot us down before we could think about running.''

I know it's true. So we stay sitting, and listening. We don't hear anyone, nor the sound of a canon quite yet.

''What's that smell?'' Trent asks.

I don't have to look to know, but I stand up to look anyway. The forest is going up in flames with immense force and at the speed of light, and foot by foot, it's moving toward us.

''Run, Trent!!!''

He's gotten it before I needed to tell him, and he was clever and quick enough to grab our backpacks before we tore off into the opposite direction as fast as we could, making our way through the trees, jumping over roots and vines. Tripping now would be deadly, and I know we both know without saying that the Gamemakers are herding us together, they're making us run right into the Careers against our judgement to sit tight. But it's not like we can do anything - better face them and stand a chance than get incinerated on the spot.

Soon enough we can see them, too: Ruby's hanging by a rope, her ankle caught, and Hale is in front of her in a defensive stance as though he can do anything with Alexis's arrow trained on him and Blaze about to butcher Ruby. Then the two assailants realize the fire is coming and they start running too, leaving their prey to their fate. Hale sees us coming, looks almost uncertain what to do with Ruby as she wiggles and tries to cut herself free. He pulls out a knife, but it's not working very fast, and he doesn't seem to have any better weapon on him now, and he should run, alliance be damned. And he's ready to, and is about to, and we should too, not waste a single second, but it's on our way and damn it, Trent has his machete out, and he cuts Ruby down, and hauls her back on her feet, and we run together.

I don't know how far we run, but at some point the fire's just blocked, as though by some invisible wall, and the flames climb up the wall and disperse up above, and they never reach us. It is now that I realize how tired and out of breath I am, and I'm so dizzy and my leg hurts so bad I literally fall on my ass. Everyone else seems to be more or less in the same state. It's a while until we regain our breaths and are able to even utter anything. My face feels so sticky under all the sweat and dirt and fire residue.

''Thanks, ally,'' Ruby wheezes.

''Now what?'' Trent asks.

''No going back, obviously,'' I reply, ''Our camp is roasted. We move.''

''We're gonna need water soon,'' Hale says, ''There should be other sources... if you wanna go back there for a fill, there's barely anything to hide us now.''

''We need shelter, preferably on higher ground,'' I say, still breathing heavily, ''I'll get the water tomorrow.''


	19. Chapter 19

After killing Barker and seeing Gadge dead yesterday, then running from a monstrous fire today, I'm in no fit state to help with the shelter. The sun's about to start setting any moment now, unless the Gamemakers decide to be particularly evil today and stretch the day out. I feel like I'm dreamwalking, like everything in the past two days hasn't really happened. My leg is pulsating dully. When I take a look below the make-shift bandages, I can see that the wound is healing. But it still pulsates.

Luckily, we don't have to build much. Ruby's found a cave large enough to shelter us all at least for the night, and I'm allowed to rest while they make something out of branches and large leaves to cover the entrance. With all of our supplies combined, we don't have to go out for a re-fill of water or a hunt just yet. We spend the first night without much talking, but we don't sleep much either. We're allies, but we decide to sleep in twos anyway, just in case, and make sure it's not district-mates. Me and Ruby catch some sleep first, then Trent and Hale.

Ruby and I don't talk much. We may have slept but we're still emotionally exhausted. When the remaining tributes are eliminated, we will be enemies. So what use is talking? I do wonder, however, just what kind of private hell they've gone through in their tunnels. What sights have exhausted her the way mine have exhausted me? I don't ask. So we wait for dawn in mostly silence.

We eat well for breakfast, not knowing what kind of day we're yet to meet. My rabbit is all gone, but we still have some provisions from Hale and Ruby. They'll run out by the next breakfast though, and I know we need to get more.

But how do we go out to hunt? Going all four of us is unnecessary, and while I trusted Gadge I don't trust these two enough just yet. I know it's ludicrous, because the whole point of an alliance is not having to worry about the people you're with until the others are disposed of, but I can't help it. Who stays behind and who goes? No one dares voice out the concerns though, as we eat in silence.

''We have to get more food,'' I take it upon myself to broach the subject, ''Hunt.''

''Who's gonna go?'' Ruby asks, chewing on a few nuts.

''You're gonna rest some more,'' Trent tells me, ''I'll go,'' he says, then decides he won't leave me with these two, ''But I'm not going alone.''

''I'm coming with,'' Hale says, and I'm thankful in my silence, because - should it come to it - I feel like Trent could handle him. A ten and an eight, but he could handle him. Trent has a machete and Hale is stuck with a hatchet, which I don't remember being his weapon of preference. And I know that, in a battle, a machete has more coverage. All of this goes through my mind at the speed of light. I don't trust Ruby - she may be smaller than Trent but she's nimble and sly and that sickle would slice his throat before he ever saw it coming. No, Hale is better. I can deal with Ruby.

When Hale puts his knife on the ground and slides it over to me, I almost feel a bit guilty. 

''The more the better,'' he says to me.

It's not a twin to my dagger, but I place it in the empty sheath anyway. ''Thank you.''

And then, in another minute or so, Hale and Trent are ready. They leave Ruby and me to awkward silence and shadow. 

It's a warm day and the sun is bright outside, but barely anything is coming through. It's better that way. Ruby entertains herself by sharpening the end of a branch she'd plucked into a sharp point. She's pulled that knife out of her boot. I should have been more cautious. They came out of the bloodbath with not only their weapons but back-up knives too, and there's no reason for me to believe that Hale has given me his only knife. He may have another hidden away somewhere. Trent has that machete only, and the rope and wire he's to use for the snares. Still, I have some odd bout of strong faith in Trent. I may not trust Hale, but I trust Trent to persevere. This time, without my protection.

''You don't trust me,'' Ruby says, waking me up from my daze. She keeps her eyes on the stick and her hands working, but there's a small playful smirk on her face. Is she taunting me?

''Nothing personal, I'm sure you understand,'' I say, refusing to come across to the viewers as a door-mat. Better keep my tongue spiced up just a bit too, and my tone just charmingly ironic enough.

''You'd have to be dumb to trust me,'' Ruby replies, barely giving me a glance in between the knife strokes, ''And if you were dumb, I wouldn't have asked you to be my ally.''

 _Yeah, right,_ I think. _You asked me to be your ally because I am who I am. A celebrity. Someone known and loved by the Capitol already. Someone that - should the dire need arise - will have help from sponsors. Someone who's created a soap opera this year - the tragic story of the doomed siblings. You asked me to be your ally because I ensure favor and viewers. My intelligence is lower on the priority list._

But I don't say it.

''We shouldn't have let Alexis and Blaze go,'' I say suddenly, and surprise myself, ''We should have followed them. We won't get a better chance.''

''We'll get them alright,'' Ruby says, putting down the knife and inspecting the tip of her new spike, ''Which is exactly why I started all this talk of trust, rock star. If we're gonna get those two out of the way, we can't keep looking inside.''

''Easier said than done,'' I say honestly as I think of Trent somewhere out there with Hale.

''True,'' she replies, ''But everything here is.''

She's right. Nothing's been easy since we were shot up into the arena, and trusting your allies is just another part of the vicious game. It's as difficult as killing. But sometimes, it has to be done. You have to roll the dice. Which is exactly why I'm here, and Trent's out there.

The day drags on, and Ruby and I don't chat about much more, and I start feeling antsy by the time the sun starts setting. They should be back by now. There's no way Trent and Hale would have dared go too far away from shelter. When I'm ready to get up and tell Ruby to pack up too because we're going after them, they come back just in time before I can voice the idea.

They come sour-face and empty-handed.

''Nothing?'' I frown. It's a forest ahead; how can there be nothing?

''Nothing,'' Trent replies, looking defeated.

''We could try again tomorrow, but we might just have to move on,'' Hale says as they both sit down on the cave floor, and we decide to munch on the last of our supplies, leaving barely anything for breakfast tomorrow. Nuts will have to see us through.

''Rock-star here and I will try tomorrow,'' Ruby says, ''Scout the area, if nothing else. See if there are any signs of our elusive enemies. You two are like two walking boulders.''

''She's right,'' I say, ignoring all her sarcasm, ''We'll try and hunt something down tomorrow-''

''Or someone,'' she intercepts.

''-But we should use the chance to look around too first before we decide to move on. The two of us, we're stealthier.''

''It's a date,'' Ruby says.

''It's a day trip.''

When it's all decided, we go to sleep in shifts. No anthem plays and I realize I haven't heard the sound of a cannon in a while. That should make me feel better, instead of this. But this apparent standstill is unsettling. I can't think about that right now though. We need food first.

The next day, Ruby and I cover a bigger patch of the forest than I ever intended. I try to keep her a step in front of me, so I can always have an eye on her. We try to keep to shadows and shrouds too, so as to not be shining beacons under the bright sunlight. We don't see anything or anyone though, and what's even worse is we don't _hear_ anything or anyone. It's like the forest is dead. I can't even hear a bird in the distance. Absolutely nothing.

The realization of it seems to dawn on both Ruby and me at the same time. How did we not notice the stifling silence before? We share a knowing look without having to say it, and the nervousness starts gnawing at my insides. Or is it hunger? I soon realize it's both.

''We'll need to re-locate,'' Ruby says after a while, when we've rested in the shadow of a thick tree.

''Yeah. Let's look for a spot. Stay sharp.''

We go east through the forest, further following the side of the mountain, but we don't see anything better. We don't even see another cave we could hole up in. We go as far as we dare though, until it's too dark to go any further and we have to go back. When we come back empty-handed, the looks on the boys' faces seem to turn even more sour. We're all hungry, and now we're all out of food, and we don't even have anything to break our fast tomorrow. We'll have to move on without any energy, on an empty stomach.

''But where?'' Hale asks.

''I don't know,'' I admit, ''We just keep going until we find a better place.''

''That's too risky, Mari,'' Ruby shakes her head, her arms crossed on her chest. She called me Mari instead of a sarcastic nickname, which means she has to be really worried.

''Either that or we go west, back to that spring. Might be you could find a fish in there. Keep in mind that everything is burned to the ground though, so you'll find even less shelter there. And best believe Alexis's arrows always strike true.''

''So those are our choices,'' Trent says, ''Shelter or food.''

''I mean, we can go a few days without food but we'll grow weak and easy to kill,'' I say, ''Staying here might keep us hidden awhile but we'll starve.''

''And if we go fishing, we might get killed out in the open,'' Ruby says, ''Lovely.''

''So we go east,'' I say.

''We don't even know what east is,'' Hale argues.

''We know what west is,'' I reply, ''And we know we can't afford it.''

''She's right,'' Trent backs me up, ''We should go while we're still strong enough to make the distance.''

''This is a part of their game,'' Ruby says, ''They're starving us out.''

''And likely leading us to the others,'' Hale adds.

''We better be ready then,'' I say, and the sound of a cannon stops our conversation so suddenly and violently that we all seem to gasp and jump with a start. It's like we've gotten used to not hearing it in a while.

''Who do you think that was?'' Hale asks.

''You'll find out soon enough,'' I reply.

In an hour or so, the anthem plays, and we peek out to see Cara's small face and frame plastered across the sky. The foxy girl from District 6. I wonder how she died.

We go and get some good sleep though, and mine proves to be surprisingly calm and refreshing. The absence of nightmares is quite literally odd, but I don't question it. We have an early start and move out with the first light. We're all very hungry, but as I sip on water I seem to deceive my stomach from time to time. My leg hurts less though, which is good because we likely have an entire day of walking ahead of us. We don't talk much, both because we're not in the mood and because we want to stay as silent as possible.

Night falls when we reach the denser forest and first signs of life. I don't know how many miles we've covered, but I know we're all terribly low on energy, so when we find berries we almost eat them too quickly to make sure they're edible. When all four of us agree they're not nightlock though, we seem to devour the whole bush. It's meager, but it keeps us going. 

''If we had enough rope we could get up in the trees,'' I say quietly as we keep going, keeping an eye out for a squirrel or some other small game.

''But we don't,'' Hale says.

''We should get closer to the mountain,'' Ruby says, ''Find a dent at least, cover it up with bushes. Hole up.''

''What is that?''

All our eyes follow to where Trent is looking. You can hardly see it in this dark and through the dense trees, but as we move carefully closer it becomes clearer. There's something out there. From here it looks like a huge rock or a small hill protruding from the ground.

But then we step closer. And closer. And when I realize what it is, I freeze in place before we can get too close. It's silent understanding between us as we crouch down among the shorter growth and watch from the shadows.

''Well, would you look at that,'' Ruby mutters.

Ahead is a clearing, and in the clearing the Cornucopia with all its treasures. Alexis and Blaze are the queen and king of this realm, enjoying all the food we so badly crave.

''And I was wondering why they weren't on the offensive, hunting us all down one by one,'' I say.

''Why would they when they know we'll be coming to them, the hungry beggars,'' Ruby further explains.

And it's true. The Gamemakers have rid us of food so we'd come to the slaughter.

Now it's time for us to outsmart them.


End file.
